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A  WINTER  ROMANCE  IN  POPPY  LAND 


'You  ain't  gittin'  a  bone  fellun,  is  you,  Miss  June?" 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 
IN  POPPY  LAND 

UNA  NIXSON  HOPKINS 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE   GORHAM    PRESS 
IQII 


Copyright,  1910,  by  Richard  G.  Badger 


All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  GORHAM  PRESS,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


PS 
3  fi 
1411 


TO 

M.  H.  A. 
'FAMILY" 

G.  J.  H. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

''You  ain't  gittin    a   bone  fellun   is  you,  Miss 

June?" Frontispiece 

To  face  page 
'There  was  the  rush  of  eager  horses" 48 

'With  an  eye  of  affection  the  Major  looked  back 
toward  the  snow  covered  heights" 76 

'Stepping  toward  them  he  said  confusedly,  'Have 
I  the  honor  of  guests?' " 98 

'It's  a  good  story  William" 152 

'Some  day  Miss  June's  a-goin'  to  be  left  'lone  in 
this  big  worf " 194 

The  illustrations  are  from  photographs  by 
F.  W.  Martin,  Harold  A.  Parker,  and  Ferd- 
inand Ellerman. 

The  decorations  are  by  Warren  Rockwell. 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE  IN  POPPY  LAND 


A   WINTER  ROMANCE 
IN  POPPY  LAND 


THE   Overland   Limited  was   several 
hours  late  when  it  thundered  into 
Pasadena.    It  sent  a  shiver  through 
the  palms  and  precipitated  a  show- 
er of  rose-petals  from  the  vine-covered  lattices 
flanking  the  station.     With  that  keen  sense  of 
relief,  which  is  bred  of  the  fatigue  of  a  long 
journey,    the   passengers   poured   out   into   the 
fresh  air,  and  the  station  platform  was  soon  de- 
ii 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

luged  with  the  various  paraphernalia  of  travel. 

During  the  last  hours  of  the  way,  the  scenery 
had  changed  with  dramatic  swiftness.  As  the 
train  crossed  the  San  Bernardino  Range,  a  snow- 
storm was  raging,  in  comparison  with  which,  an 
ordinary  Eastern  blizzard  would  have  seemed 
a  mere  tempest  in  a  teapot.  When  the  engine 
finally  poked  its  nose  out  of  the  snow-drifts,  and 
the  train  descended  the  steep  grade,  the  trans- 
formation of  scene  was  as  sudden  as  though  ef- 
fected by  pressing  an  electric  button. 

Like  a  carpet,  deftly  unrolled  by  a  stage- 
hand, a  vivid  green  spread  out  over  the  valley. 
The  gray,  murky  sky  that  had  threatened  the 
mountain-tops,  was  now  replaced  by  one  of  a 
Pacific  blue.  Instead  of  sleet  and  snow  and 
raging  wind,  glorious  sunshine.  It  flooded  the 
range-groves;  it  melted  the  snow  on  the  line  of 
cars  and  sent  little  rivulets  down  the  window- 
glass.  The  orange-trees,  with  their  compact, 
dark  green  foliage,  appeared  as  if  wearing  vel- 
vet hoods,  to  protect  them  from  the  snow,  which 
might  fall  upon  them  from  the  peaks  above.  Lit- 
12 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

tie  villages,  nestled  among  groves  of  live-oaks, 
gave  a  human  interest  to  the  bright  landscape.  At 
the  foot  of  the  Sierra  Madres  lay  Pasadena, 
"Crown  of  the  Valley;"  like  a  fragrant  garden, 
with  its  sweet-scented  hedges ;  shaded  by  broad- 
leaved  fig-trees  and  feathery  palms. 

Among  the  descending  passengers  there  were 
tourists  of  differing  degrees,  bearing  various  hall- 
marks of  travel.  Some  were  there,  who,  at  the 
first  flurry  of  snow  in  their  Eastern  homes,  al- 
most involuntarily  had  turned  the  key  in  the  door 
and  set  their  faces  toward  California.  Others, 
at  one  time  or  another,  had  been  members  of 
flying  excursion  parties  to  the  Western  coast.  In 
consequence  they  were  now  prepared  to  misin- 
form their  fellow  travellers  with  regard  to 
everything  in  sight.  There  too  was  the  genuine 
"tenderfoot,"  who,  for  the  first  time  was  ex- 
periencing the  charm  of  passing  from  snow  to 
roses  within  a  few  days.  The  majority  were  on 
pleasure  bent.  A  few  were  in  search  of  health. 

Noticeable  among  those  leaving  the  train  was 
a  woman,  whom  Nature  had  borne  across  the 
13 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

half-century  line,  without  making  the  fact  too 
apparent.  She  was  accompanied  by  a  pretty  girl 
about  nineteen,  evidently  her  daughter.  The 
mother  was  aristocratic  in  bearing.  The  lines 
of  her  mouth  ended  in  little  asterisks,  probably 
caused  by  her  habit  of  accentuating  her  opinions 
with  compressed  lips.  Her  somewhat  haughty 
expression  had  no  doubt  been  emphasized  by 
looking  out  upon  the  world  through  the  violet- 
tinted  window-panes  of  her  Beacon  Street  resi- 
dence. 

The  face  of  the  girl  was  unusually  interest- 
ing. She  impressed  you — Well, — as  being  just 
the  kind  of  girl  one  would  like  to  know.  Her 
paleness,  as  well  as  her  mother's  solicitude  sug- 
gested the  truth ;  they  had  come  because  of  her 
health.  That  she  was  not  ill,  to  the  extent  of 
having  lost  interest  in  life,  was  indicated  by  her 
well-groomed  appearance.  She  wore  a  natty  tail- 
ored suit  of  brown,  topped  with  a  fetching  toque. 
This  was  set  on  her  golden-brown  hair  at  an 
indefinable  angle  which  added  a  somewhat 
whimsical  charm. 

14 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

The  hotel  to  which  they  were  going  was  only 
a  stone's  throw  from  the  station— a  woman 
throwing  the  stone.  Bougainvillea  covered  the 
walls  and  hung  perilously  from  the  roof  top. 
Roses  and  carnations  bordered  the  garden  paths, 
as  if  it  were  June  instead  of  November.  Wom- 
en, whose  summery  gowns  matched  the  flow- 
ers, chatted  gaily  in  the  shade  of  palms  or  ex- 
changed confidences  among  the  magnolias  and 
myrtles. 

The  scarcity  of  men  appeared  to  bear  out  to 
some  degree  the  description  of  California  given 
by  Cortez  in  the  sixteenth  century:  "A  land 
entirely  inhabited  by  women."  That  there  were 
men  among  the  hotel  guests,  the  saints  bear  wit- 
ness !  At  this  hour,  however  they  were  either 
golfing,  riding,  or  motoring.  But,  the  whole 
truth  told,  the  proportion  of  femininity  was 
more  than  double  that  of  the  real  Garden  of 
Eden. 

The  mother  left  to  the  daughter  the  respon- 
sibility of  registering.  In  a  hand,  which  indi- 
cated character,  the  girl  wrote — 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Mrs.  Winthrop 

Boston 
June  Winthrop 

This  done,  she  turned  back  and  ran  her  eye 
over  several  pages  of  the  big  book,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  the  name  of  a  friend.  She  discovered 
none.  The  majority  of  the  names,  though,  were 
surprisingly  familiar.  This  familiarity  she  soon 
realized,  arose  through  her  having  so  often  seen 
them  in  the  advertising  pages  of  the  popular 
magazines.  There  were  inventors  of  every 
thing — from  mouse-traps  to  threshing-machines. 
Makers  of  tooth  powder  and  back  combs  had 
written  their  names  in  democratic  proximity  to 
those  of  doctors,  lawyers,  merchants  and — the 
jingle  complete — a  thief— with  apologies  to 
modern  phraseology — a  "grafter." 

The  name  set  down  just  above  their  own  at- 
tracted the  young  girl's  attention.  It  was  writ- 
ten in  broad,  inky  strokes. 

George  Oliver         Bond         Indiana 
16 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

Both  the  name  and  the  handwriting  looked 
familiar,  but  she  could  place  neither. 


^ 


II 


ON    entering    their    apartments    Mrs. 
Winthrop  and  her  daughter  were 
greatly  surprised  to  find  huge  bou- 
quets of  Duchesse  roses,  to  which 
were  appended  the  cards  of  Major  and  Mrs. 
Knowles.     The  Major  had  been  an  army  com- 
rade of  the  late  General  Winthrop,  although 
for  years  Mrs.  Winthrop  had  known  nothing  of 
his  whereabouts.      The    Major,   however,    had 
learned  of  the  expected  arrival  of  the  Win- 
18 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

throps.  The  week  before,  the  hotel  clerk  with 
their  telegram  in  his  hand,  had  inquired  wheth- 
er the  Major  happened  to  know  this  particular 
family  from  his  own  corner  of  the  world.  The 
Winthrops'  trunks  had  just  come  up,  when  Ma- 
jor and  Mrs.  Knowles  appeared  in  person.  Gen- 
eral Winthrop's  widow  had  never  liked  Mrs. 
Knowles.  Years  before  she  had  lost  all  patience 
with  the  Major  for  his  unfaltering  following  of 
his  wife's  "wandering  foot."  But  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  was  now  in  a  strange  country  with  an  in- 
valid daughter,  and  her  affectionate  greeting  of 
Mrs.  Knowles  was  sincere,  for  she  was  truly 
glad  to  see  an  old  acquaintance. 

The  Major  was  still  a  rather  fine-looking  man, 
though  he  had  a  somewhat  washed-out  appear- 
ance, with  a  suggestion  of  green  in  his  counten- 
ance, like  a  faded  portrait  of  Reynolds.  Indeed, 
in  the  Major's  case,  life's  pigments  had  grown 
rather  dull.  His  once  elegant  and  dignified 
manner  had  gradually  given  place  to  an  irrita- 
ble, nervous  air.  So  many  domestic  breezes  had 
blown  the  Major's  way,  he  had  come  to  have  the 
19 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

constant  appearance  of  looking  about  him  for  a 
draft.  The  Major  was  a  good  man,  however, 
with  no  end  of  common  sense,  which,  for  the 
sake  of  peace,  he  was  forced  to  keep  carefully 
concealed  from  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Knowles  was  of  the  dowager  type.  She 
was  hopelessly  addicted  to  the  playing  of  Bridge 
and  the  crocheting  of  shawls.  This  she  occa- 
sionally offset  by  the  reading  of  up-to-date,  semi- 
religious  literature.  She  talked  "New  Thought" 
and  thought  unew  dress."  The  former  served 
her  as  a  patent  medicine,  which  she  administered 
to  her  soul  ad  lib.  without  knowing  or  caring 
what  constituted  its  ingredients.  The  latter, 
through  her  ardent  efforts  to  keep  up  with  the 
ever  changing  fashions,  afforded  her  a  species 
of  mental  gymnastics. 

Most  of  his  wife's  hobbies,  particularly  that 
for  travel,  the  Major  humored.  It  was  the  easier 
way.  From  their  travels,  however,  Mrs. 
Knowles  gained  but  little.  Her  mental  attic  was 
not  equal  to  storing  up  its  benefits. 

When  the  door  closed  upon  the  Major  and 
20 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

his  wife,  Mrs.  Winthrop  and  June  began  to 
dress  for  dinner.  June  had  not  seen  them  since 
she  was  a  child.  "So  that's  Major  Knowles!" 
she  said.  "Well,  he's  terribly  limp.  That's  all 
I've  got  to  say  about  him.  I  thought  in  my  heart 
I'd  broken  him,  when  we  shook  hands.  His  arm 
went  down  like  that  old  pump-handle,  when  the 
well  on  the  farm  went  dry." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  out  of  the  window 
dreamily,  recalling  the  past.  "The  truth  is, 
daughter,  I'm  afraid  almost  any  one  would  be 
limp,  after  having  lived  with  Maria  Knowles 
for  thirty  years." 

June  laughed.  "She  reminds  me  so  far  of  a 
character  study  in  a  story,  that,  even  if  you  don't 
exactly  admire,  makes  good  spicy  reading." 

When  Mrs.  Winthrop  and  June  went  down  to 
dinner,  they  found  a  table  arranged  for  them 
next  to  that  of  the  Knowles' — .  What  per- 
plexed them  was,  that  not  only  these  friends,  but 
others  about  them  were  smiling. 

The  looks  exchanged  signified  that  they  were 
themselves  the  occasion  of  these  amused  smiles. 
21 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Neither  the  mother  nor  the  daughter  could  solve 
the  mystery.  Mrs.  Knowles  put  out  an  arrest- 
ing hand  as  they  passed  her  chair.  "My  dears, 
we  can't  help  being  amused  at  your  roses."  Not 
only  June,  but  her  mother  as  well,  wore  corsage 
bouquets  of  their  Duchesse  roses.  "You  know," 
Mrs.  Knowles  continued  patronizingly,  "Cali- 
fornians  never  wear  flowers,  and  you've  branded 
yourselves  as  'tourists  unlimited.'  " 

June  let  her  flowers  fall  into  her  lap  as  she 
sat  down,  but  her  mother  made  hers  even  more 
conspicuous  and  sat  stiff  as  a  Tudor  rose. 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  June  said  "I  feel  just  like  a  corner 
mantel — my  face  to  every  one  and  my  back  fast 
against  the  wall." 

Her  mother  coldly  surveyed  their  fellow- 
diners. 

"Never  mind,  mumsie  dear,  we  don't  care  if 
we  do  serve  them  a  'tourist  menu.'  What  if  we 
don't  know  everything !  Then  we've  got  some- 
thing to  look  forward  to.  I  wonder  who  all 
these  people  are  !"  She  looked  around  the  room 
22 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

with  cheerful  interest.  "Isn't  it  funny  that  most 
all  the  men  have  white  hair?  They  don't  look  so 
very  old  either !" 

Still  continuing  the  calm  survey  of  the  tables, 
Mrs.  Winthrop  replied :  "I  suppose  it  has  come 
from  their  working  so  hard  to  make  money." 

Then  indulging  herself  in  a  pet  weakness,  she 
quoted : 

"The  Sire  of  gods  and  men,  with  hard  decrees, 
Forbids  our  plenty  to  be  bought  with  ease." 

To  this  June  assented  by  taking  a  salted  al- 
mond. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  it  began  to  rain. 
The  sky  emptied  itself  in  bucketfuls,  rather  than 
drops.  The  late  arrivals  from  "back  east"  could 
only  console  themselves  by  remembering  that  the 
second  destruction  of  the  world  is  not  predicted 
to  come  by  flood. 

June's  sleep  was  broken  by  the  storm. 
Through  her  sub-consciousness  ran  the  name — 
George  Oliver.  She  seemed  to  see  it  on  a  large, 
23 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

buff  envelope,  which  she  handed  to  her  brother 
who  was  lying,  very  weak  and  pale,  on  a  bed. 

In  the  morning  she  woke  with  a  start.  The 
sunshine  was  streaming  into  her  room,  just  as 
if  there  had  been  no  storm.  Suddenly  she  re- 
membered distinctly,  that  when  her  brother  Jack 
came  home  ill  from  college  three  years  before, 
he  had  spoken  often  of  a  George  Oliver,  and 
that  during  Jack's  illness  he  received  several  let- 
ters from  Oliver.  June  had  frequently  carried 
her  brother's  mail  upstairs.  Now  she  understood 
why  his  handwriting  in  the  hotel  register  had 
seemed  so  familiar. 

Having  established  the  identity  of  the  name 
which  had  been  puzzling  her,  June,  all  excite- 
ment, tapped  on  her  mother's  door  and  told  her 
of  the  incident. 

The  prospect  of  seeing  a  friend  of  Jack's 
aroused  even  Mrs.  Winthrop  from  her  usual 
calm,  and  after  breakfast  she  asked  Major 
Knowles  to  look  up  Mr.  Oliver. 

"I  wonder  whether  he's  a  millionaire  or  an 
invalid,"  was  the  Major's  observation.  "They 
24 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

are  the  only  kind  of  young  men  you  ever  find 
about  these  hotels." 

June  and  her  mother  with  Mrs.  Knowles, 
waited  in  the  Moorish  tea  room.  They  were 
looking  over  the  morning  paper  when  Major 
Knowles  returned,  triumphantly,  with  young 
Oliver. 

As  the  Major  pushed  aside  the  oriental  hang- 
ings at  the  door,  and  Oliver  stepped  into  the 
room,  he  made  a  striking  picture. 

He  was  tall  and  broad — with  the  manner  of  a 
man  who  is  sure  of  himself. 

"Jack's  friend,  Mr.  Oliver,"  the  Major  an- 
nounced jocularly. 

"A  sufficient  recommendation  for  any  one, 
Mr.  Oliver."  Mrs.  Winthrop  held  out  her  hand 
cordially.  Mrs.  Knowles  was  effusive  as  usual. 
But  June,  greatly  impressed  with  Oliver's  ap- 
pearance, in  an  attempt  to  hide  it,  greeted  him 
with  a  slight  air  of  hauteur  which  only  made 
her  bewitching. 

Oliver  seemed  likable  and  attractive,  but  there 
was  no  memoranda  of  his  life  in  his  face  to  in- 
25 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

dicate  his  character.  There  was,  however,  a 
force  about  him,  which  made  one  feel  that  he 
was  capable  of  being  either  a  blessed  saint  or  a 
powerful  sinner. 

In  the  course  of  the  talk  that  followed  Oliver's 
introduction,  it  came  out  that  he  possessed  a 
guarantee  to  popularity — otherwise  a  touring 
car.  And  before  he  left  the  little  company,  he 
had  invited  them  all  to  go  motoring  that  after- 
noon. 


26 


Ill 

NOVEMBER  had  passed  and  Christ- 
mas was  at  hand. 
The  hotel  was  crowded.    Every 
evening   the    great    corridors   and 
dancing  room  presented  scenes  which  for  bril- 
liancy could  not  have  been  surpassed  in  any  part 
of  the  ultra  fashionable  world.  The  women  were 
wonderfully  gowned.    The  gems  displayed  were 
worth  a  ransom. 

June  had  been  forbidden  to  dance,  but  she  and 
27 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

her  mother  looked  on  a  little  while  every  even- 
ing. Occasionally  June  joined  the  young  set  in 
a  game  of  cards. 

George  Oliver  was  seldom  seen  below  stairs 
after  nine  o'clock.  He  gave  no  reasons  but 
simply  excused  himself  at  that  hour  and  disap- 
peared. 

"You  go  to  bed  with  the  chickens,  Oliver," 
the  Major  said  one  evening. 

Oliver  smiled  and  replied:  "I'm  so  high  up 
it's  necessary  for  me  to  start  early  in  order  to 
reach  my  room  before  morning." 

"It's  odd,"  Major  Knowles  remarked  to  his 
wife,  as  he  looked  after  Oliver,  "that  a  fellow 
with  his  money  can  be  satisfied  in  a  back  room  at 
the  top  of  the  house." 

"Do  you  think  he  has  so  much  money?"  Mrs. 
Knowles'  tone  was  incredulous. 

"Of  course,"  the  Major  was  emphatic. 
"Oliver  spends  a  small  fortune  every  week  on 
that  auto  alone." 

"What  do  you  really  think  of  him,  dear?" 
Mrs.  Knowles  called  the  Major  "dear"  when- 
28 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

ever  she  wished  to  gain  his  confidence. 

"Bully  chap"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "But  I 
can't  just  see  what  he's  doing  around  here  so 
long.  A  healthy  man  of  his  age  ought  to  be 
attending  to  business  somewhere." 

"Do  you  think  it's  June?"  Mrs.  Knowles 
moved  her  chair  closer  to  the  Major. 

"I  can't  say,"  he  spoke  doubtfully.  "It  cer- 
tainly wasn't  June  that  brought  him  here  in  the 
first  place.  I  like  Oliver,"  the  Major  conclud- 
ed, "but  he's  a  man  who  never  gives  his  confi- 
dence to  any  one." 

George  Oliver  seemingly  had  given  his  four 
new  friends  sufficient  opportunity  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  him.  Almost  every  day  he  took 
Mrs.  Winthrop  and  June  motoring.  Frequently 
the  Major  and  Mrs.  Knowles  were  included  in 
all  day  trips  to  neighboring  towns. 

In  spite  of  all  the  learned  discourses  on  the 
beauty  of  conduct,  external  attributes  usually  do 
their  work  in  the  little  love  dreams  of  life  before 
conduct  is  in  sight. 

June  had  reckoned  with  herself  after  the  first 
29 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

few  meetings  with  George  Oliver.  Alone  in 
her  room  one  morning  she  stood  before  the  mir- 
ror and  eyed  herself  critically.  "June  Win- 
throp,"  she  said  aloud,  uare  you  going  to  be  a 
fool  or  not?  It's  a  question  I  want  answered  at 
once." 

"Are  you — or  are  you  not  going  to  fall  head 
over  heels  in  love  with  that  man  Oliver — "  her 
tone  was  scornful.  "You  have  common  sense, 
now  exercise  it.  If  you  can't  have  a  good  time 
and  yet  hold  on  to  your  heart  strings,  you'll  have 
to  give  up  motoring  and  all  the  rest  of  the  fun. 
Promise  to  be  good?" 

The  face  in  the  mirror  nodded.  "Cross  your 
heart?"  Another  nod.  "Hope  to  die  if  you 
don't  keep  your  promise?"  Still  another  nod. 
Then  apparently  from  the  mirror  laughter — 
laughter  that  ended  in  tears. 

June  wiped  them  away  hastily,  and  tiptoed 
closer  to  the  mirror  and  whispered  "I  loved  him 
the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  him.  You  know  I  did, 
Face,  but  nobody  else  shall  know — I'll  die  first. 
I'm  going  to  be  just  as  independent  and  saucy  as 
30 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

a  girl  can  be  from  now  on.  And  whenever 
I  see  George  Oliver  coming  my  way,  I  promise 
you  I'll  devote  myself  to  that  lonesome  looking 
invalid  man,  who  seems  always  to  be  waiting  for 
me  at  the  tea  room  door.  Now  that  we  have 
had  it  out,  life  will  be  easier,  for  there  are  things 
difficult  to  say  even  to  one's  own  face." 

The  weeks  had  gone  by  and  June  kept  her 
promise. 

Mrs.  Knowles  had  invited  the  Winthrops  and 
Oliver  for  mid-day  dinner,  Christmas.  One  of 
the  hotel's  private  dining  rooms  had  been  set 
aside  for  her  use — elaborately  decorated  with 
California  holly  and  Christmas  greens. 

In  the  afternoon  the  plan  was  to  run  over  to 
Los  Angeles  for  the  Christmas  celebration  at  the 
old  plaza  church,  to  which  Oliver  had  received 
an  invitation  for  himself  and  friends  from  one 
of  the  Padres  with  whom  he  had  become  ac- 
quainted. 

The  dinner  was  a  highly  artistic  affair— all 
that  Mrs.  Knowles  could  have  wished  even  in 
her  most  ambitious  moments.  The  Major  was 
31 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

talkative  and  in  a  state  of  felicity.  The  little 
gay  dining  room  and  family  board  were  to  him 
a  semblance  of  home — a  thing  he  had  not  known 
for  twenty  years.  The  entire  dinner,  of  course, 
had  been  ordered  beforehand,  but  between 
courses,  the  Major  was  seen  to  feel  about  the 
table  cloth  for  his  menu  card.  His  wife  rallied 
him,  and  explained  to  the  guests  that  her  hus- 
band was  never  cut  out  for  a  domestic  man. 

Everybody  was  happy,  or  pretended  to  be. 
Mrs.  Winthrop,  who  in  her  heart  was  homesick 
for  Jack,  found  comfort  in  talking  to  Oliver. 
June  was  charming  in  a  dark  red  gown  which 
toned  with  the  red  of  the  holly  and  set  off  her 
coloring  to  advantage.  Oliver,  handsome  and 
debonair,  sent  admiring  glances  across  the  table 
to  her  without  the  least  attempt  at  dissimulation. 
She,  however,  followed  the  promptings  of  her 
head,  rather  than  her  heart,  and  returned  his 
glances  with  obvious  dignity.  Capricious  and 
daring  in  her  talk  when  she  addressed  Oliver, 
June  never  for  one  moment  fanned  his  vanity. 

The  dinner  was  a  great  success.  And  alto- 
32 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

gather  the  conversation  was  as  well  spiced  as  the 
pudding. 

It  was  a  delightful  nine-mile  ride  to  Los  An- 
geles. The  beautiful  landscape  served  as  a  text 
for  converse  to  begin  with,  but  "no  human  being 
ever  spoke  of  scenery  for  above  two  minutes  at 
a  time,"  and  every  member  of  the  party  lapsed 
into  silence  and  gave  themselves  up  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  ride. 

On  reaching  the  city  they  went  first  through 
the  old  part  of  the  town,  where  picturesque, 
crumbling  adobes  contested  the  ground  with  as- 
piring commercial  blocks. 

Soon  they  arrived  at  the  Plaza  Church.  Its 
yellowish-gray  facade,  patched  and  seamed  with 
age,  stood  out  against  the  bluest  of  skies.  In 
front  of  the  church  was  the  old  public  square — 
or  plaza— where  a  medley  lot  of  people  lounged 
in  the  sunshine.  Beyond  the  plaza  lay  China- 
town, its  gaily  painted  buildings  showing 
through  the  trees. 

Oliver's  car  came  to  a  stop.  Already  the 
courtyard  connected  with  the  church,  was  full 
33 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

of  Spanish  merrymakers.  The  Padre  whom 
Oliver  knew  came  forward  and  extended  his 
patte  de  velours  as  he  welcomed  his  guests. 

The  Patio  was  vivid  with  color.  Three 
Christmas  trees  stood  in  the  center.  They  were 
bright  with  tinsel  and  thickly  hung  with 
gifts.  The  parishioners  were  scattered  about 
in  happy  groups.  Gay  senoritas  flirted  with 
their  cavaliers  under  the  palms  and  set 
their  elders  gossiping.  Black-eyed  youngsters 
cast  longing  glances  at  the  glittering  trees.  In 
their  moist  hands  they  held  bright  red  tickets, 
which  entitled  them  to  gifts,  for  which  they 
waited  patiently,  reared  as  they  were  in  the  land 
of  Manana. 

In  a  mellow  voice  one  of  the  Padres  started : 
"My  country  'tis  of  Thee" —  He  wished  to 
show  that  his  people  were  good  patriots.  The 
Major  and  Oliver  bared  their  heads.  But  their 
hats  were  soon  replaced.  The  limited  amount 
of  their  English  made  even  the  singing  of  one 
verse  a  sore  tax  on  the  parishioners. 

La  Jota,  an  old  Spanish  dance,  was  tripped 
34 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

to  Spanish  music  by  the  merry  feet  of  old  and 
young. 

Then  there  was  more  singing — mostly  hymns 
— rendered  in  soft  Spanish  cadences.  Finally 
came  the  distribution  of  gifts,  which  took  a  long 
time — afterward  dancing  again. 

During  the  program  June  and  Oliver  shared 
one  of  the  rear  wooden  benches  with  a  row  of 
olive  skinned,  fun-poking  boys  and  girls.  The 
older  members  of  the  party  were  given  seats  of 
honor  in  front. 

"How  lovely  it  has  been!"  June  had  taken 
on  something  of  the  coquettish  air  of  the  pretty 
senoritas  around  her.  Oliver  himself  looked  no 
less  a  cavalier,  than  those  enjoying  the  dance,  as 
he  said: 

"I  assure  you  that  it  has  been  lovely  for  me, 
Miss  Winthrop."  Oliver  bent  forward  and 
looked  into  June's  face,  as  he  added — "Any 
place  on  earth  would  be  lovely  to  me  if  you 
were  only  there." 

June,  crimson  and  confused,  was  trying  to 
frame  an  answer  when  her  mother  with  the  Ma- 
35 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

jor  and  Mrs.  Knowles  came  up. 

"We  might  easily  imagine  ourselves  back  in 
another  century,"  Oliver  said  nonchalantly,  as 
he  and  June  rose  and  they  all  stood  at  one 
side,  enjoying  the  picture— "if  it  were  not  for 
my  car  there  in  the  foreground." 

"Its  been  a  fine  trip,  Oliver,"  the  Major 
said,  as  he  put  his  foot  on  the  step.  "I  don't 
know  when  I've  enjoyed  myself  so  much !" 

As  they  turned  homeward,  all  the  glories  of 
the  setting  sun  were  reflected  from  the  distant 
snow  capped  peaks. 


IV 

THE  week  following  Christmas  was 
a  gala  one  in  the  hotel,  and  besides 
elaborate  preparations  went  on  for 
the  annual  Tournament  of  Roses 
New  Year's  Day. 

June  took  part  in  most  of  the  festivities,  but 
Oliver  was  conspicuous  by  his  absence.  June 
was  piqued.  She  found  some  consolation  in  the 
fact  that  Oliver  had  invited  them  all  to  see  the 
tournament  procession  from  his  car  New  Year's 
37 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

morning,  lunch  al  fresco,  and  witness  the  chariot 
race  in  the  afternoon. 

"If  we  were  the  weatherman's  old  uncle,  and 
about  to  die  and  leave  him  a  fortune,  he  couldn't 
have  given  us  a  better  day!"  George  Oliver 
said  as  he  handed  his  guests  into  his  car.  As 
this  was  a  holiday,  he  was  to  be  his  own  chauf- 
feur. June  was  given  the  seat  at  his  side. 

For  the  first  morning  of  the  New  Year,  na- 
ture had  summoned  all  her  charms.  The  sun 
rose  clear  in  a  cloudless  sky,  as  if  it  would  be 
early  at  the  fete.  The  snow  on  the  mountains 
sent  a  chill  through  the  air — but  everywhere, 
there  was  the  breath  of  flowers — the  thousands 
of  flowers  that  had  been  gathered  to  adorn  the 
festival. 

The  car  sped  down  the  avenue,  gay  with  bunt- 
ing and  tournament  flags.  Clear  bugle  notes 
reached  their  ears.  A  Happy  New  Year  was 
on  every  tongue.  The  whole  country  around 
had  come  to  welcome  the  New  Year. 

"I  think  I  know  some  lines  that  just  describe 
this  day,"  June  said  to  Oliver,  and  she  repeated 
38 


IN  POPPY  LAND 
gaily: 

"The  morn  is  full  of  holiday;   loud  bells 
With  rival  clamors  ring  from  every  spire ; 
Cunningly-station'd  music  dies  and  swells 
In  echoing  places ;  when  the  winds  respire, 
Light  flags  stream  out  like  gauzy  tongues  of 

fire; 

A  metropolitan  murmur,  lifeful,  warm, 
Comes  from  the  northern  suburbs;   rich  attire 
Freckles  with  red  and  gold  the  moving  swarm ; 
While — here— and  there — clear  trumpets 
— blow — blow,  oh  dear !     I've  forgotten  the 

rest  of  it.    I  never  tried  to  be  brilliant  in  my  life 

that  I  didn't  come  to  grief." 

"You  did  very  well,"  Oliver  was  consoling. 

"Mother  usually  says  the  verses  at  our  house, 
I  thought  I'd  get  ahead  of  her  this  time !"  June 
looked  over  her  shoulder  at  her  mother  who 
was  sandwiched  so  tight  between  the  Major 
and  Mrs.  Knowles  that  ordinary  speech  even 
would  seem  impossible. 
39 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

The  pageant  was  forming.  Oliver  drove  his 
car  into  a  side  street,  to  get  a  position  in  the 
shade. 

Mrs.  Knowles  had  been  very  quiet.  She 
turned  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  and  said  in  an  un- 
dertone. "I  wish  the  Major  would  buy  a  car. 
You  know  you  can  make  so  many  people  under 
obligations  to  you—" 

The  procession  was  coming  near.  The  mar- 
shals came  into  view,  riding  gaily  caparisoned 
horses.  Their  bridles  were  of  wrought  silver 
— relics  of  the  old  Spanish  days.  Bands  of  mu- 
sic followed.  Then  came  the  great  floats,  solid- 
ly banked  with  flowers.  The  devices  were  va- 
rious. An  airship,  made  entirely  of  sweet  peas, 
floated  above  the  crowds.  A  calla-lily  boat 
sailed  gracefully  by.  It  was  followed  by  Babes- 
in-the- Woods,  peering  out  from  dim-eyed  vio- 
lets, massed  in  pony-carts.  Grave  city  officials 
looked  conscious,  when  the  crowds  cheered  their 
tally-ho,  decked  with  vivid  poinsettias.  China- 
men bore  a  great  dragon,  some  ninety  feet  long, 
writhing  in  its  tinsel  and  gold.  It  frightened 
40 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

the  small  children  and  made  them  cling  crying, 
to  their  mothers'  petticoats.  Behind  it  walked 
solemn  celestials  in  gorgeous  robes,  with  float- 
ing banners.  Still  more  bands  of  music  I  more 
floats !  more  flowers !  Then— the — Queen  of  the 
Tournament !  She  was  throned  under  a  canopy 
of  cream-white  roses  and  surrounded  by  her 
Maids  of  Honor.  Her  white  satin  robe  and  the 
jewels  in  her  diadem  gleamed  against  the  flow- 
ery background. 

When  the  Queen  and  her  court  had  passed, 
the  crowds  began  to  separate.  The  majority 
of  the  people  followed  to  the  park,  where  prizes 
for  the  best  displays  were  to  be  awarded,  and  the 
races  would  take  place. 

Oliver's  car  quickly  wove  its  way  in  and  out 
among  the  crowd.  He  wished  to  arrive  in  sea- 
son to  witness  the  grand  entrance  into  the  park. 
June  was  wild  with  excitement,  and  exclaimed 
over  everything  that  passed.  For  Oliver,  ap- 
parently it  was  enough  just  to  be  near  June. 
Mrs.  Winthrop's  face  was  flushed  with  pleas- 
ure. The  Major  and  Mrs.  Knowles  had  seen 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

other  New  Year's  pageants.  The  Major  de- 
clared this  was  better  than  any.  His  wife, 
wearied  from  a  half  dozen  Bridge  parties  dur- 
ing the  last  week,  was  hopelessly  bored. 

Oliver  had  brought  with  him  a  delicious 
luncheon  from  the  caterer's,  and  all  enjoyed  lend- 
ing a  hand  in  setting  it  out. 

"My  dear,  you  are  looking  a  thousand  times 
better!"  said  Mrs.  Knowles  to  June.  Rosy  and 
smiling,  the  girl  was  passing  the  plates  of  salad. 

"It's  the  California  air,"  Oliver  suggested. 

"I've  my  own  opinions  about  health,"  the 
Major  broke  in,  as  he  sat  down  the  ripe  olives. 
"There's  nothing  for  it  like  a  good  time  and — 
freedom." 

"Freedom !"  repeated  his  wife,  as  she  almost 
choked  the  Major  with  her  look,  "who  hasn't 
their  freedom,  Major  Knowles?  June,  I  am 
sure,  has  never  been  caged." 

"The  truth  is,  Maria," — the  Major  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  passing  of  the  jelly — "the  truth 
is,  there's  more  than  one  kind  of  a  cage.     It 
isn't  necessary  to  be  behind  bars,  to  be  caged." 
42 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

He  spoke  with  feeling. 

Oliver,  fearing  the  whole  party  was  about  to 
be  precipitated  into  a  domestic  war,  opened  a 
long  pasteboard  box,  filled  with  pretty  baskets 
of  strawberries,  and  passed  them  hurriedly.  The 
talk  turned  directly  upon  the  novelty  of  eating 
strawberries  out  of  doors  on  New  Year's  Day. 


43 


THE  scene  at  the  park  was  strikingly 
beautiful.     In  the  background  the 
mountains— their  summits  whitened 
with  the  newly  fallen  snow — were 
outlined  against  an  azure  sky.     As  the  eye  fol- 
lowed down  the  mountain-sides,  groves  of  live 
oaks  came  into  view.     In  the  near  foreground 
were    the    brilliant    flower-bedecked    equipages 
lined  up  against  the  wall  of  the  circular  track. 
In  the  boxes  and  on  the  grand  stand,  a  mass 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

of  happy,  laughing,  chattering  spectators. 

The  Queen  of  the  Tournament,  seated  under 
her  royal  canopy,  was  surrounded  by  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  her  court. 

The  chariots  came  within  the  inclosure.  They 
were  of  Roman  pattern.  The  drivers  wore  the 
light  costume  of  the  Roman  charioteer. 

Garcia,  a  handsome  Spaniard  in  a  white  tu- 
nic, entered  the  arena  first.  His  chariot  was  of 
ivory  and  gold,  drawn  by  four  milk-white 
horses.  Following  him  came  Winters  in  red 
silk  tunic.  He  drove  four  big  bays  attached 
to  a  chariot  of  flaming  red,  decorated  in  gold. 
Wolf,  who  made  the  third  entry,  came  all  in 
black — horses — chariot— and  tunic.  Arturo,  the 
fourth  entry,  in  tunic  of  green,  drove  sorrel 
horses  harnessed  to  a  great  chariot. 

After  finishing  their  luncheon,  Oliver  and  his 
guests  had  gone  to  the  other  side  of  the  park 
to  witness  the  barbecue.  Hundreds  were  being 
fed  with  the  steaming  meat,  taken  from  the  pit 
in  the  ground,  in  which  it  had  been  roasted. 

"I  feel  just  as  if  I  were  in  a  play,"  said  June, 
45 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

as  they  walked  back  across  the  green  to  take 
seats  in  their  box.  "Doesn't  the  scene  make  you 
think  of  those  highly  colored  old  prints,  with 
titles  in  two  or  three  languages — 

'L'ete  et  L'hiver 

der  Sommer  und  der  Winter 

Summer  and  Winter'  " 

"It  certainly  is  great,"  said  Oliver. 

June's  eyes  followed  the  chariots — "I'm  for 
that  handsome  Spaniard  with  the  white  horses. 
I  can  tell  by  the  way  they  hold  their  heads  that 
they'll  win.  But  those  bays,"  she  added  rather 
scornfully,  "look  to  me  like  plow  horses  !" 

"You  think  so?"  They  were  walking  slowly 
now.  The  others  were  far  ahead.  "The  bays 
do  look  a  trifle  awkward."  Oliver  walked  still 
more  slowly.  He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 
"I'd  like  to  wager  on  the  bays."  Oliver  looked 
straight  into  June's  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"What  will  you  wager?"     June  asked  eager- 
ly.    "I'm  sure  of  my  white  horses." 
46 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"I'll  wager  my  life."  The  dense  crowd  sep- 
arated them  for  a  moment.  Oliver  reached 
June's  side  again.  The  Major  was  beckoning 
to  them  to  hurry. 

"We  must  be  quick!"  June  spoke  excitedly, 
"they'll  close  the  wicket."  But  Oliver  was  in  no 
haste  to  join  the  others.  Coming  very  close 
to  June,  he  said  in  a  low  voice:  "You  are  the 
stake,  Miss  Winthrop— June!  I  determined  to 
win  you  the  first  time  I  saw  you.  That  morn- 
ing in  the  tea  room." 

Again  they  were  parted  by  the  eager  crowds. 
When  Oliver  caught  up  to  June,  she  laughed 
mockingly  "Oh,  you  don't  even  know  me  yet!" 

"Know  you !  why  I've  known  you  a  thousand 
years!" 

A  man  at  June's  elbow  leaned  forward.  He 
looked  wonderingly  into  the  face  of  the  girl, 
whom  some  one  had  known  a  thousand  years. 

"Tell  me,  tell  me  quick,  June,  may  I  stake  my 
life — everything — on  the  bays?" 

The  sights  and  sounds  about  her  filled  June 
with  a  romantic  ardor.  Her  dark  eyes  flashed. 
47 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"I'll  take  the  wager!"  she  said— "but"— she 
added,  and  there  was  challenge  in  her  voice  — 
"Garcia  will  win !" 

They  had  reached  their  box.  Oliver  hand- 
ed her  in.  The  others  had  already  taken  their 
seats.  Oliver  began  to  explain  the  race-schedule 
to  the  ladies.  "The  first  race  is  to  be  run  be- 
tween Garcia  and  Winters.  The  second  between 
Wolf  and  Arturo.  The  third  will  be  run  by 
the  losers  of  the  first  and  second.  The  winners 
of  the  first  and  second  races  will  run  the  fourth." 
Again  and  again  a  false  start  was  made.  The 
charioteers  were  called  back  to  their  places  by 
the  ringing  of  the  bell. 

The  horses  were  so  excited,  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  bring  their  eight  heads  to  anything 
like  a  line — .  At  last,  the  signal  to  go  was 
given ! 

There  was  the  rush  of  eager  horses — flashes 
of  color  were  seen  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust.  The 
white  horses  appeared  as  one  line.  The  bays, 
as  they  ran,  straggled  out  into  an  awkward  an- 
gle. 

48 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

Garcia  has  the  pole!  soon  he  is  in  the  lead! 
A  blur — as  if  two  red  and  white  clouds  had 
come  together— the  two  chariots  have  barely 
escaped  locking  wheels!  They  are  in  such  a 
maze  of  dust,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  see  them. 
From  this  they  emerge,  as  they  come  nearer. 
The  horses  of  the  two  chariots  are  neck  and 
neck.  Garcia  is  fast  gaining.  On  and  on — 
faster  and  faster  he  comes ! — until  his  horses — 
plunging  and  foaming,  and  several  lengths  ahead 
— pass  under  the  wire. 

A  deafening  shout  went  up  from  the  crowd, 
as  if  from  one  voice.  June  gave  Oliver  an  ex- 
ultant look.  He  returned  it  with  placid  confi- 
dence. "This  is  only  a  half-mile  track!"  he 
said.  "The  heat  is  not  ended.  They  must  go 
round  once  more." 

Winters  had  not  spoken  to  his  bays,  until 
Garcia  passed  under  the  wire.  Then,  he  loos- 
ened his  lines,  which  he  had  held  taut.  He 
leaned  over  and  spoke  one  word  to  his  animals. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  his  horses  swept 
forward  like  a  hurricane — crossed  Garcia's  path 
49 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

— and  took  the  pole. 

A  second  time  Winters  leaned  forward  and 
spoke  to  his  horses.  A  second  time  they  leaped 
ahead  with  fresh  impetus. 

Now  he  is  so  far  in  advance  of  Garcia,  he 
dares  to  look  back.  He  sees  his  rival  far  in  the 
rear. 

Once  more,  Winters  speaks  to  his  bays !  once 
more  they  plunge  forward!  Easily  they  pass 
under  the  wire. 

Oliver  jumped  up  and  down  in  his  seat.  He 
waved  his  hat  and  shouted  like  a  mad  man. 
For  once  the  Major  forgot  Maria  Knowles. 
He  yelled  like  a  boy.  June's  face  was  scarlet. 
With  spirit  she  said.  "It's  only  the  first  race!" 

"But  I've  won!"  cried  Oliver — 

The  intermission  of  twenty  minutes  was  giv- 
en over  to  the  Vaqueros,  who  displayed  their 
fancy  riding.  There  was  opportunity  for  small 
talk  about  the  races  and  the  women's  gowns. 
The  latter  subject  set  Mrs.  Knowles  to  talking. 
The  costumes  were  elaborate — quite  up  to  horse 
show  standards. 

50 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

After  the  intermission,  came  the  race  between 
Wolf  and  Arturo.  It  was  known  that  Wolf's 
horses  were  blooded.  From  the  first  it  was  the 
expectation  that  he  would  win.  The  crowd  was 
hardly  prepared  however  for  the  spectacular  fin- 
ish. 

They  had  made  the  first  half  of  the  race  and 
were  at  the  finish  of  the  second.  As  they  passed 
under  the  wire,  Wolf's  horses  became  frightened 
and  entirely  unmanageable. 

Worked  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement, 
the  spectators  shouted  and  shrieked.  Amidst 
the  din,  only  those  very  near  could  know  that 
Wolf  was  crying  for  help. 

Mounted  police  attempted  to  stop  the  mad- 
dened animals — but  without  avail — they  could 
not  overtake  them.  The  Vaqueros,  on  their 
fiery  bronchos,  followed  in  wild  pursuit.  With 
their  thread-like  lariats  they  finally  succeeded 
in  entangling  the  foaming  horses. 

Compared  with  this  scene  the  race  itself  had 
been  mild  sport! 

The    third    race — between    Garcia,    June's 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

handsome  Spaniard,  and  Arturo — did  not  cause 
great  interest.  It  was  run  for  the  third  prize, 
and  was  won  by  Garcia. 

Then  followed  the  great,  deciding  race  be- 
tween the  winners  in  the  first  and  second :  Wint- 
ers, upon  whom  Oliver  had  staked  his  happiness, 
and  Wolf  with  his  runaways.  The  majority  of 
the  spectators  were  for  Wolf.  Oliver — undeni- 
ably nervous — ordered  lemonade  of  every  boy 
that  came  his  way.  June  frayed  her  program. 

When  the  horses  were  led  out,  one  of  Wint- 
er's bays  limped.  Oliver,  looking  over  June's 
head,  said  to  Mrs.  Winthrop,  that  he  felt  sure 
they  could  easily  win,  because  Wolf's  blacks 
were  done  up  by  their  runaway.  "Wolf's  blacks 
ran  away  once,  probably  they  can  again !"  was 
June's  optimistic  retort. 

The  start  was  accomplished  in  less  time  than 
usual. 

The  chariots  had  reached  Oliver's  box. 
Winters  was  ahead.  Oliver  stood  up.  He 
waved  his  hat  frantically  and  shouted  with  all 
his  might  "Go!  Go!" 

52 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"Sit  down  there!  Sit  down  there!"  people 
cried  from  every  side. 

Terrified  at  this  pandemonium,  Winter's  ani- 
mals leap  forward.  Their  hoofs  lick  up  the 
line  of  track  as  a  prairie  fire  licks  up  the  dry 
grass.  The  dust  burns  their  nostrils  and  blinds 
their  eyes.  Under  a  rain  of  lashes  they  plunge 
madly  onward.  Well  they  know,  their  master 
never  wields  a  whip  except  in  a  crisis.  But  in 
spite  of  their  frantic  speed,  Wolf's  blacks  are 
rapidly  gaining  on  them.  They  have  reached 
the  point  in  the  course  furthest  from  the  judge's 
box. 

Suddenly  there  is  a  terrific  crash.  Charioteers 
— maddened  horses — and  their  chariots — are 
seen  only  as  a  struggling  mass  in  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

A  moan  goes  up  from  the  horrified  spectators. 
Consternation  reigns  on  all  sides.  Again  the 
police  and  Vaqueros  come  to  the  rescue. 

Breathlessly  the  crowd  waited  to  know  what 
the  outcome  would  be. 

In  a  few  moments  the  two  rivals  were  seen 
53 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

coming  down  the  track — each  pale  as  death — 
an  angry,  red  cut  gleamed  on  Wolf's  temple. 
They  halted  before  the  Queen's  throne  and  made 
her  a  humble  obeisance,  then  passed  on  slowly 
to  the  judge's  stand. 

Bleeding  and  limping  the  eight  horses  were 
led  up.  The  judges  ordered  the  broken  char- 
iots to  be  brought.  From  their  condition  they 
hoped  to  be  able  to  decide  where  the  blame  of 
the  collision  lay. 

The  crowds  were  silent  while  the  judges  gave 
hearing  to  both  sides.  At  last  the  bugle 
sounded. 

The  decision  was  announced. 
The  race  was  a  foul.  The  deciding  race  would 
be  run  at  the  next  Year's  Tournament. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  was  the  dinner  hostess  that 
evening  at  her  regular  table  in  the  large  dining 
room.  June  was  perceptibly  nervous.  The  ex- 
tent of  her  folly  was  dawning  upon  her.  She 
was  asking  herself  whether  the  wager  had  been 
merely  a  holiday  joke — or  had  George  Oliver 
been  in  earnest — 

54 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

They  had  reached  the  salad  course,  when  the 
talk  took  the  turn  June  had  dreaded. 

"The  chariot  race  was  magnificent,  wasn't 
it?"  Mrs.  Knowles  appealed  directly  to  Oliver. 
Without  waiting  for  his  reply,  she  went  on: 
"The  outcome  certainly  was  surprising.  Why  I 
would  have  wagered  almost  anything  on  those 
white  horses — the  driver  was  so  handsome !" 

"I  wonder  why  they  didn't  decide  the  race?" 
Mrs.  Winthrop  said. 

June  avoided  Oliver's  eyes  between  the  roses 
— "Perhaps  it  was  Fate  or — " 

Mrs.  Knowles  did  not  wait  for  June  to  finish. 
"Who  knows  what  really  happened  in  that 
smash-up?" 

No  one  answered. 

"The  bays  were  the  only  horses  that  had  any- 
thing of  a  chance  from  the  beginning,"  said  Oli- 
ver decidedly.  "I  heard  it  everywhere  last 
week.  Winters,  they  say,  is  half  horse  him- 
self. He's  had  those  bays  in  training  for  years 
— they  understand  him  as  if  they  were  human. 
Then,  too,  I  talked  with  the  man  himself.  He 
55 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

told  me  that  if  the  crowd  kept  perfectly  quiet 
— the  other  man  would  have  a  show.  But  the 
moment  there  was  shouting  and  confusion,  his 
horses  were  off — and  to  win !" 

"So  you  sent  up  the  requisite  shout,  Oliver, 
didn't  you?  Perhaps  you  had  a  big  wager  at 
stake?"  The  Major's  tone  showed  that  he 
wished  he  had  been  in  the  sport. 

"I  did  have,"  said  Oliver. 

June  was  intently  studying  the  pattern  of  the 
table  cloth. 

"Its  a  pity  they  declared  a  foul !"  the  Major 
said,  "you'd  have  got  a  good  wad,  wouldn't 
you?"  The  Major  seldom  laughed,  but  now  he 
did  so  very  heartily. 

"Something  much  better  than  a  wad!"  Oliver 
averred  with  spirit.  It  was  his  turn  to  study  the 
table  cloth  pattern. 

"Explain,  Oliver — explain,"  the  Major  in- 
sisted. 

Looking  up  Oliver  said  with  a  laugh,  "I'll 
tell  you  on  the  Ides  of  March." 


VI 


LIFE  is  a  game  of  London  Bridge. 
There  is  no  telling  at  what  moment 
the  arms  of  Fate  may  descend  upon 
us. 

June  and  her  mother,  with  Major  and  Mrs. 
Knowles  were  sitting  in  a  retired  corner  of  the 
hotel  veranda.  It  was  the  evening  following 
the  tournament.  Mrs.  Knowles  was  repeating 
some  tiresome  gossip  about  how  a  very  rich 
family  in  the  house  had  come  by  their  money. 
57 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

June,  tired  of  the  talk,  fled,  and  left  her  moth- 
er and  the  Major  to  play  audience.  She  took 
refuge  in  the  garden,  where  she  sat  down  on  a 
rustic  seat.  It  was  just  within  the  shadow  of  the 
broad,  extending  arms  of  a  huge  date-palm.  She 
listened  to  the  call  of  the  mocking-birds.  She 
watched  the  shadows  of  the  swaying  palm  leaves, 
patterned  on  the  lawn  by  the  electric  lights. 

Two  men  came  from  the  opposite  direction. 
They,  too,  seated  themselves  within  the  tree's 
shadow,  but  quite  on  the  other  side.  As  soon 
as  they  were  seated,  they  began  to  talk.  The 
night  air  carried  their  voices  over  to  June. 

"Of  course,"  she  heard  distinctly,  "both  men 
are  madly  in  love  with  the  girl.  So  far  she  fa- 
vors them  equally.  Now  if  Bernardo  could  only 
damage  Thompson's  character  he  might  be  able 
to  carry  off  the  prize." 

There  was  silence.  June  saw  the  gleam  of  a 
cigar  stump,  which  was  thrown  down  on  the 
path. 

"Hang  it !    I  don't  know  what  to  advise  you." 

June's  first  impulse  was  to  fly.  She  half  rose. 
58 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

Her  slipper  made  a  little  grating  sound  on  the 
gravel.  The  two  men  did  not  notice  it.  They 
were  absorbed  in  their  conversation. 

June  could  not  risk  the  mortification  of  being 
discovered  in  the  act  of  leaving.  She  dropped 
back  into  her  seat. 

The  same  man  spoke  again.  "She  has  fine 
jewels,  hasn't  she?  Heirlooms?" 

"Yes,  her  ancestors  brought  them  over  from 
Spain  in  the  early  days."  It  was  George  Oliver 
speaking. 

"Well  then,"  said  the  other,  "why  can't  you 
steal  those  heirlooms  and  somehow  fix  the  blame 
on  Thompson?  In  that  way  you  could  be  rid 
of  him.  Then  you  could  put  Bernardo  in  pos- 
session of  his  old  Tia  Juana  Rancho  and' — the 
girl." 

The  scratch  of  a  match!  He  was  lighting 
another  cigar! 

"There  may  be  other  ways," — he  continued. 
"I  don't  just  see  them,  Oliver." 

June  was  faint.  The  cigar  smoke  was  blown 
across  into  her  face.  She  stuffed  her  handkerchief 
59 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

into  her  mouth  to  keep  from  coughing. 

"I  believe  your  suggestion  is  the  only  alter- 
native, Dodge,"  Oliver  spoke  hesitatingly. 

"You're  the  doctor!"  the  man  whom  he  ad- 
dressed as  Dodge,  rejoined. 

"Yes,  and  a  devilish  poor  one!"  Oliver's 
tone  was  desperate. 

A  pair  of  lovers  sauntered  by. 

The  two  men  rose  quickly  and  walked  away. 

June  slipped  out  of  the  shadow,  and  ran  to 
the  veranda. 

Her  mother  was  still  sitting  there  with  the 
Major  and  his  wife.  June  took  a  seat  at  one 
side.  She  must  steady  herself  before  she  spoke 
to  them.  Pleading  fatigue,  she  soon  went  to 
her  room,  making  her  way  through  the  great 
halls  unsteadily,  as  one  completely  dazed. 

"Oliver!"  she  repeated  on  her  way — "Oliv- 
er!" as  if  the  name  had  a  strange  fascinating 
sound.  So  this  was  George  Oliver — Jack's 
friend — and — hers. 

Before  she  retired,  Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  in 
upon  her  daughter.     The  room  was  dark  and 
60 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

June  seemed  deep  in  slumber. 

She  was  not  asleep.  She  lay  awake  all  night. 
Should  she  tell  her  mother  the  whole  story?  If 
she  did,  her  mother  would  appeal  to  the  Major 
and  his  wife  for  advice.  What  Mrs.  Knowles 
knew,  the  world  knew. 

June  shivered  at  the  thought  of  the  notoriety 
this  would  bring  her.  Over  and  over  in  her 
mind  the  same  sentences  ran — "If  only  there 
could  be  some  mistake !  If  only  I  had  not  heard 
aright!  If  only  it  were  not  Oliver!"  At  dawn 
she  dropped  to  sleep. 


61 


VII 


MRS.  WINTHROP  sat  by  the  win- 
dow reading,  waiting  for  June 
to  waken. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  loud 
knock  at  the  door.  It  startled  Mrs.  Winthrop 
into  dropping  her  book,  and  made  June  sit  up 
in  bed,  before  her  eyes  were  really  open. 

There  was  no  time  to  answer.     Mrs.  Knowles 
burst  into  the  room.     She  precipitated  her  one 
hundred  and  seventy  pounds  of  solid  flesh  upon 
62 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

the  foot  of  June's  bed. 

"My  dears !"  She  stopped  to  get  her  breath. 
"An  awful  thing  has  happened!" 

June  was  already  under  the  impression  that 
something  had  happened  to  her.  Mrs.  Winthrop 
moved  her  chair  up  to  the  bed,  prepared  for  the 
worst. 

Still  breathless,  Mrs.  Knowles  went  on.  "You 
know  the  Mansfields,  who  have  a  suite  across 
the  hall  from  you !" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  and  June  nodded. 

"Well,  they  were  robbed  last  night — right  in 
this  very  house — of  thousands  of  dollars  worth 
of  jewels.  My  dears,  the  burglars  must  have 
passed  your  very  doors  1" 

She  waited  dramatically  for  her  words  to  take 
effect. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  anxiously  at  June. 

The  girl  was  deathly  pale.  Again  she  was 
sitting  under  the  palm  tree.  Again  she  was  hear- 
ing the  man  Dodge  say,  "Why  can't  you  steal 
those  heirlooms  and  somehow  fix  the  blame  on 
Thompson?" 

63 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Mrs.  Knowles'  voice  brought  her  back.  "It 
does  seem  as  if  everybody  in  good  social  stand- 
ing was  being  robbed."  Mrs.  Knowles  drew 
a  deep  sigh,  as  if  she  thought  her  own  round  of 
the  social  ladder  was  not  sufficiently  high  to  pre- 
cipitate her  into  such  calamities. 

June  lay  back  on  the  pillow  trembling.  Then 
as  if  roused  by  a  sudden  idea,  she  started  up  like 
a  frightened  doe —  Must  she  tell  what  she 
knew.  She  rested  her  face  on  her  hand —  No, 
she  must  have  time  to  think  it  all  out. 

Mrs.  Knowles,  who  always  ran  away  from 
any  unpleasantness,  slipped  quietly  from  the 
room.  Mrs.  Winthrop  crossed  to  the  other  side 
and  opened  wide  a  window  to  let  in  the  air. 

"I'm  better  now,  mother,"  June  summoned 
all  of  her  will  power  to  say,  as  Mrs.  Winthrop 
came  back  to  the  bed. 

"Maria  Knowles  had  no  right  to  break  into 
your  room  as  she  did,"  Mrs.  Winthrop  spoke 
angrily.  "If  you  had  been  awake  this  burglar 
story  wouldn't  have  shocked  you — but,"  she 
added  with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  "try  to 
64 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

dismiss  it  from  your  mind,  daughter — it  means 
nothing  to  us." 

To  this  June  made  no  reply,  but  a  deep 
shadow  passed  over  her  face  and  she  said,  "You 
will  go  on  the  tally-ho  drive  without  me  this 
morning,  won't  you?  I  did  not  sleep  well  last 
night — and. — I  must  rest." 

"If  you  really  wish  me  to  do  so,"  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  agreed  reluctantly. 

After  her  mother  had  gone,  June  got  up  and 
dressed,  without  tasting  of  the  breakfast  which 
had  been  ordered  for  her. 

A  train  of  awful  thoughts  oppressed  her  as 
she  walked  up  and  down  in  her  room.  She  was 
calm,  but  the  brightness  had  gone  out  of  her 
eyes.  She  was  suddenly  grown  old.  She  mas- 
tered her  thoughts  and  reviewed  the  situation — 
from  the  day  of  her  first  meeting  with  Oliver. 

He  was  so  handsome  and  fine,  everything  in 
fact  that  her  girlish  fancy  could  have  pictured 
a  lover.  Humiliated  to  the  last  degree  she  dwelt 
on  the  past  few  days.  She  recalled  Oliver's 
look,  his  voice,  the  things  that  he  had  said.  And 
65 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

to  think  all  this  time  she  had  been  the  mere 
plaything  of  a  man  who  was  a  common — thief ! 
She  clenched  her  hands  and  the  nails  cut  her 
flesh.  If  she  could  tell  Jack!  Yes,  that  was  it! 
She  would  write  Jack  and  ask  him  what  she 
should  do. 

June  had  never  given  her  mother  her  confi- 
dences. The  two  women  were  no  more  alike 
than  a  crusty  tart  is  like  the  toothsome  filling. 

She  went  to  the  drawer  and  took  out  Jack's 
last  letter,  dated  London — where  he  had  been 
for  several  months.  In  it  he  said  that  he  ex- 
pected to  be  back  in  New  York  the  first  week  of 
January.  He  would  doubtless  arrive  about  the 
time  her  letter  did. 

She  wrote  the  whole  affair  to  him — at  length. 
How  she  had  first  seen  Oliver's  name  on  the 
register —  How  they  had  met  him  and  gone 
about  with  him —  What  she  had  heard  in  the 
garden —  And  then — how  the  robbery  had  been 
committed  the  night  before.  And  if  Jack  could 
read  between  the  lines  she  unconsciously  told 
him  other  things. 

66 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

As  she  finished  the  letter  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door.  She  opened  it,  and  a  bell-boy  hand- 
ed her  a  magnificent  bunch  of  roses  with  Oliver's 
card.  To  June  they  were  like  a  message  from 
the  dead.  She  steadied  herself  against  the  door 
and  stared  at  the  flowers  as  if  they  were  evil 
things.  Then  she  handed  them  back  and  said, 
— "wait — I  wish  to  write  a  note."  The  note 
ran: 

"Mr.  Oliver: — I  have  just  one  thing  to  say  to 
you.  Never  in  any  way  address  me  again.  You 
will  understand  why  I  do  not  sign  my  name." 

She  slipped  a  silver  piece  into  the  messenger's 
hand.  "Take  the  note  and  the  flowers  back — " 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  his  name — 
"back  to  the  man,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
sounded  unnatural  even  to  herself.  She  closed 
the  door,  and  for  the  first  time  gave  way  to  an 
agony  of  tears. 

Shortly  there  was  another  knock  and  when 
she  did  not  answer  it,  a  note  was  thrust  under 
the  door.  She  read  it — 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"My  dear  Miss  Winthrop: — I  can  not  imag- 
ine why  you  should  have  written  me  such  a 
note.  There  evidently  is  a  misunderstanding ! 
May  I  not  see  you  for  a  few  moments?  In  God's 
name  if  I  have  done  anything  to  offend  you  let 
me  make  it  right.  Yours, 

GEORGE  OLIVER." 

June  opened  the  door —  The  messenger  stood 
against  the  wall  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
whistling  softly.  "Tell — the  one  who  sent  you 
that  there  is  no  answer." 

In  the  afternoon  June  watched  the  clock  ner- 
vously. For  when  her  mother  returned  she  must 
give  some  explanation  of  the  rupture  between 
herself  and  Oliver — an  excuse  that  would  at 
least  suffice  until  she  could  hear  from  Jack. 

The  four  walls  of  her  room  seemed  longer 
unbearable.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  walked  out 
into  the  fresh  air.  As  she  passed  through  the  ho- 
tel every  one  she  met  was  talking  about  the 
burglary.  She  heard  some  one  say:  "The  man- 
agement is  certain  that  the  work  was  done  by  a 
68 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

professional,  but  there  is  absolutely  no  clue." 

June  chose  a  quiet  street  and  walked  rapidly, 
for  a  long  distance.  When  she  had  thought  of 
a  plausible  story  to  tell  her  mother,  she  returned 
to  the  hotel. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  on  the  ve- 
randa. Suddenly,  at  one  end,  she  saw  George 
Oliver.  He  walked  hurriedly  toward  her  and 
scanned  her  face  as  he  came.  On  the  top  step 
of  the  broad  flight  leading  to  the  veranda  they 
met  face  to  face.  Oliver's  look  was  appealing 
—"Miss  Winthrop — " 

June  did  not  allow  him  to  finish.  Now  mas- 
ter of  herself  she  looked  him  full  in  the  face — 
"Let  me  pass,  sir"  she  said. 


VIII 


DURING  the  night  there  had  been  a 
snow-storm     in     the     mountains. 
The  Major  declared  he  wanted  to 
have  the  experience  promised  by 
the  guide  books  —  to  go  from  roses  to  snow  and 
back  again  in  a  day. 

Mrs.  Knowles  dreaded  the  cold  and  objected. 
The  Major  insisted. 

"Maria!"  he  stormed,  "after  three  seasons, 
all  you  know  of  this  country,  is  the  hotel  veran- 
70 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

das!" 

June  was  so  terribly  depressed,  she  had  little 
heart  for  the  expedition —  But  she  finally  de- 
cided it  was  better  to  go  with  the  others. 

They  took  the  electric  cars.  After  leaving  the 
town,  the  road  ran  through  olive  groves  and 
small  ranches.  It  skirted  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains, climbed  higher  and  higher,  and  wound 
around  into  a  beautiful,  wooded  canon. 

Here  the  car  was  waiting  to  carry  them 
straight  up  the  mountain  side. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  expressed  timidity,  as  she 
looked  up  at  the  slender,  ladder-like  road. 

Mrs.  Knowles,  on  the  contrary,  had  all  at 
once  become  enthusiastic.  She  had  heard  the 
talk  in  the  car  on  the  way  up.  She  began  to  en- 
lighten the  Major  about  it  all.  This  was  one 
of  the  great  engineering  feats  of  the  world.  The 
incline  was  some  per  cent,  steeper  than  that  of 
the  great  Swiss  Mt.  Pilatus.  They  really  ought 
to  have  the  experience.  It  would  be  something 
to  refer  to,  when  they  went  to  Switzerland  the 
next  summer. 

71 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

June  had  brightened  perceptibly.  The  cool 
morning  air  had  served  as  a  tonic. 

As  the  white  car  began  the  ascent,  she  asked, 
"Where  would  we  go  if  this  cable  should 
break?" 

"That  depends,  Miss  June,"  the  Major  re- 
plied, "on  how  well  we  have  kept  the  command- 
ments." 

At  the  top  of  the  incline,  they  found  a  foot  of 
snow  on  the  level. 

"Here  we  are!"  cried  the  Major.  "Here's 
'the  heart  of  winter'  you  read  about!" 

They  were  now  transferred  to  an  electric  line 
that  would  carry  them  on  up  to  the  tavern. 

The  road  before  them — as  they  caught 
glimpses  of  it — looked  as  if  some  gigantic  pen 
had  traced  black  scratches  on  the  mountain  side. 

The  air  was  very  keen.  Mrs.  Knowles 
shrank  farther  into  her  sealskin  coat.  She  looked 
like  a  bird  in  winter — its  feathers  all  ruffled.  She 
had  changed  her  mind  slightly,  as  to  the  joy  of 
the  trip.  "Major  Knowles,  whatever  made  you 
bring  me  to  this  dangerous  place?" 
72 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

The  Major  sat  by  himself  and  said  never  a 
word.  Mrs.  Winthrop  held  fast  to  June. 

All  was  silent  except  for  the  creak  of  the 
car,  as  it  made  its  perilous  way  around  the 
curves.  They  doubled  and  crossed  canons.  Now 
they  went  through  a  snow-flurry.  Now  they 
were  out  in  full  sunshine.  All  the  time  they  were 
slowly  ascending. 

Suddenly — between  peaks  that  seemed  to  part 
of  themselves,  to  open  a  way  for  a  scene  of 
splendor — far,  far  down  in  the  distance — the 
gleaming  Pacific! 

Before  them  lay  the  fertile  San  Gabriel  Val- 
ley. Pasadena  appeared  as  a  faint  pattern  traced 
in  the  green.  They  saw  it  all  through  an  atmos- 
phere of  translucent  blue. 

Soon  they  were  at  the  mountain  tavern,  which 
nestled  among  the  trees.  Within  they  found 
welcome  and  good  cheer.  They  warmed  them- 
selves before  the  great,  crackling  hearth-fire,  and 
the  Major  ordered  luncheon.  It  was  snowing 
hard. 

During  the  afternoon  the  storm  became  so 
73 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

furious,  Major  Knowles  suggested  that  they  re- 
main all  night. 

After  dinner  they  sat  before  the  cheerful  fire 
in  the  big  hall  with  several  other  guests.  The 
telephone  rang.  And  above  the  hum  of  voices, 
June  heard  the  clerk  say — "Well,  I'm  glad 
they've  got  him." 

He  hung  up  the  phone  in  a  moment  and  ad- 
dressed the  Major  over  the  top  of  his  desk, 
which  was  at  one  side —  "Perhaps  you'll  be 
interested  to  know  that  they've  caught  the  fel- 
low who  committed  the  burglary  down  at  your 
hotel — the  phone  buzzed  so  I  didn't  get  his 
name — but  I  guess  that's  no  matter." — 

Everything  in  the  room  swayed  before  June's 
eyes.  She  did  not  even  hear  what  Major  Knowles 
said  in  answer. 

Soon,  she  turned  to  her  mother —  "I'm  go- 
ing to  my  room — if  you  don't  mind — to  finish 
my  book." 

Outside,  the  wind  howled  ceaselessly.  The 
long  limbs  of  huge  pines,  with  their  burden  of 
ice  and  snow,  dragged  heavily  on  the  roof  and 
74 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

made  weird  creaking  sounds.    To  June  the  storm 
was  symbolical ! 

When  the  wind  rose  yet  higher,  shrieking  and 
moaning,  a  terrible  fear  seized  her — not  fear  for 
herself,  but  for  George  Oliver.  She  forgot  her- 
self, her  humiliation,  everything,  but  him.  In 
her  imagination  she  saw  him  shackled — led 
away.  If  a  test  of  her  love  for  him  had  come 
at  that  moment  she  would  have  gladly  given  her 
life  to  save  him.  Nature  asserted  itself  and 
June  fell  asleep. 

In  the  morning  when  she  awoke,  she  looked  out 
upon  a  still,  magic  white  world.  And  imme- 
diately after  breakfast  the  Major  announced  the 
return  car. 

Before  long  they  were  again  in  the  midst  of 
green  groves,  breathing  sweet  odors. 

Mrs.  Knowles  broke  out.  "Well,  that's  done ! 
There's  one  thing  less  on  the  Major's  list!" 

With  an  eye  of  affection  the  Major  looked 
back  toward  the  snow-covered  heights  from 
which  they  had  come.  "Maria,  I'm  glad  I'm 
not  you  I" 

75 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

The  suffering  June  had  endured  the  past  two 
days  culminated  in  the  agony  she  felt  on  return- 
ing to  the  hotel.  Her  feet  almost  refused  to  car- 
ry her  across  the  threshold  as  with  the  others  of 
the  party  she  entered  the  door. 

The  very  first  person  they  met  told  them  the 
news — Dick,  the  bell-boy,  had  been  arrested  for 
the  burglary. 

But  to  June  there  was  deep  significance  in  the 
fact  that  Dick  was  the  boy  who  came  and  went 
at  Oliver's  call.  It  was  he  who  had  brought  her 
Oliver's  flowers. 


: 


M 


IX 

Y  dear  I've  something  to  tell  you, 
the  Major  and  I  have  about 
decided  to  take  a  furnished 
house."  Mrs.  Knowles  spoke 
with  her  usual  urbanity.  Mrs.  Winthrop  was 
seated  on  the  veranda,  and  Mrs.  Knowles  stood 
behind  her.  Every  morning  after  breakfast  she 
stood  an  hour  to  reduce  her  flesh.  She  was  cro- 
cheting vigorously.  "Now  why  don't  you  take  a 
house,  too?  It  certainly  would  be  good  for 
June."  Without  waiting  for  a  reply  to  her  sug- 
gestion, she  rambled  on.  "I  have  discovered  af- 
77 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

ter  three  seasons  at  the  hotel,  that  there  are  so- 
cial advantages  in  having  a  house.  The  trouble 
is — if  you  have  a  fine  house  it's  more  expensive." 
Mrs.  Knowles  sighed.  She  greatly  desired  to  be 
in  the  social  whirl,  but  knew  that  though  the 
Major  wanted  a  home,  he  objected  to  an  ex- 
travagant establishment. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  was  taken  with  the  new  idea. 
Mrs.  Knowles  was  counting  stitches  preparatory 
to  turning  a  corner  and  Mrs.  Winthrop  seized 
the  opportunity.  In  rapid  succession  she  put 
question  after  question  about  houses  and  their 
furnishing,  so  it  took  Mrs.  Knowles  a  good  long 
time  to  answer.  The  house  question  was  about 
talked  out  when  the  Major  joined  them. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  was  just  speaking.  "Before 
I  make  any  definite  plans,  I  want  to  know  what 
June  would  like  to  do.  She  will  be  down  a  little 
later."  Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  anxious —  "June 
hasn't  been  nearly  so  well  of  late — in  fact  I  feel 
very  much  troubled  about  her." 

"I've  noticed  it,"  the  Major  said,  gravely. 

Mrs.  Knowles  stopped  crocheting  as  if  some- 
78 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

thing  had  occurred  to  her  and  spoke,  as  from  a 
clear  sky.  "I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Oliver,  except 
in  the  dining-room,  for  several  days." 

The  Major  scowled.  But  Mrs.  Winthrop 
seemed  relieved  that  Oliver's  name  had  been 
mentioned.  "I  must  tell  you,"  she  said — she 
hesitated — "that  Mr.  Oliver  and  June  are  no 
longer — friends." 

"Why,  my  dear,  what  is  the  matter?"  Mrs. 
Knowles  forgot  that  her  hour  was  not  up  and 
dropped  into  one  of  the  porch  chairs. 

"I  can't  say,  but  June  is  not  even  willing  that 
I  should  recognize  him.  She  says  she  will  ex- 
plain everything — soon,"  and  Mrs.  Winthrop 
changed  the  subject. 

"I  feel  that  June  should  see  a  physician.  Can 
you  recommend  one?"  Mrs.  Winthrop  includ- 
ed the  Major  and  Mrs.  Knowles  in  her  glance. 

A  smile  crossed  the  Major's  face.  There  are 
several  in  Pasadena.  We — " 

"It  all  depends" — the  Major's  wife  cut  him 
short — "on  what  sort  of  advice  you  want." 

Mrs.  Winthrop's  expression  grew  puzzled. 
79 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"Now  there's  Dr.  Goodman,  who  invariably 
says  you  need  a  change  of  climate." 

Here  the  Major  rose  irritably  and  strode  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  veranda. 

Mrs.  Knowles  lowered  her  voice.  "I  consult- 
ed him  last  spring,  when  I  wanted  to  go  to  New 
York  and  the  Major  was  slow  about  moving." 
She  unknotted  a  new  skein  of  wool  and  con- 
tinued. "Then  there's  Dr.  Lantana.  He's  pret- 
ty certain  to  advise  European  travel.  He  has  a 
large  clientele  among  the  ladies  in  the  hotel." 

The  Major  returned  to  his  seat,  unfolded  his 
newspaper  and  straightened  it  out  with  a  great 
rustling.  He  apparently  became  engrossed  in 
his  reading. 

Mrs.  Knowles  went  on :  "Of  course  for  any 
one  affecting  nervous  prostration,  there  isn't  any- 
body like  Dr.  Goodman.  He's  so  dear  and  sym- 
pathetic !  Every  one  just  adores  him.  You  can 
depend  on  him  to  make  the  sweetest  sugges- 
tions." 

The   Major  could  no  longer  remain  in  pa- 
renthesis.   He  laid  his  paper  across  his  knee. 
80 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"Maria,  Maria,  don't  be  a  fool!"  he  thun- 
dered. Sternly  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Winthrop, 
took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  the  time.  As  if 
the  gentle  lady  had  been  a  whole  army,  he  said  in 
a  commanding  voice,  "You  will  find  Dr.  Brown 
at  his  office  here  in  ten  minutes.  He  is  a  good 
physician  and  a  sensible  man.  He  will  advise 
you  intelligently  in  regard  to  Miss  June." 

"What  time  shall  we  go  to  look  at  houses?" 
The  Major's  wife  spoke  in  an  abused  tone. 

"Wait  and  see  what  Dr.  Brown  says,  Maria. 
If  Mrs.  Winthrop  decides  to  go  with  you,  then 
I'll  order  a  carriage  directly." 

Just  then  June  came  out.  There  was  hope- 
lessness in  her  face.  Since  the  arrest  of  the  bell- 
boy she  realized  that  it  was  only  a  very  short 
time  until  she  must  speak. 

When  her  mother  told  her  of  the  plan  to  take 
a  house,  she  seized  upon  the  idea,  eagerly.  Here 
was  a  means  of  escape  from  the  hotel  before  the 
climax  came. 

Dr.  Brown  encouraged  Mrs.  Winthrop  with 
regard  to  her  daughter.  The  girl  was  suffering 
81 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

from  a  nervous  breakdown.  He  advised  the 
mother  by  all  means  to  take  a  house — one  with 
a  garden,  so  that  her  daughter  could  work 
among  the  flowers.  She  ought  to  live  out  of 
doors. 

It  was  settled.  The  carriage  was  brought 
around.  June  seated  herself  in  front  with  the 
driver,  while  her  mother  and  Mrs.  Knowles 
were  taking  their  places. 

"Our  driver  is  a  Harvard  graduate — out  here 
for  his  health."  Mrs.  Knowles  said  this  in  a 
penetrating  whisper,  that  everybody  could  hear, 
then  aloud :  "You  know,  my  dears,  one's  in  a 
chronic  state  of  good  society  in  Pasadena.  You 
can't  get  away  from  it,  even  if  you  try  to." 

June  cast  a  glance  at  the  frail  looking  young 
man  beside  her,  and  to  relieve  his  evident  em- 
barrassment began  asking  questions — 

"What  are  those  queer  looking  trees?" 

The  driver  was  not  permitted  to  answer.  Mrs. 
Knowles  spoke  in  a  high  voice.  "Now  please 
don't  ask  me — " 

"As  if  anybody  had — "  June  thought — 
82 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"I  don't  know  the  name  of  every  shrub  and 
tree  we  see.  I've  had  so  many  otherwise  pleas- 
ant drives  ruined  by  just  such  questions,  that  I 
make  it  a  practice  never  to  answer  them.  But, 
my  dears,  be  thankful  for  one  thing.  There 
are  no  picture  galleries  or  monuments  to  rave 
over  out  here." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  had  spent  her  life  in  the 
shadow  of  Bunker  Hill.  Words  failed  her. 
June  glanced  from  under  her  long,  black  lashes 
at  the  driver.  He  was  trying  to  suppress  a 
smile. 

The  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  a  real 
estate  office.  The  Major  had  telephoned  that 
they  were  coming.  A  young  man  came  out  and 
handed  them  a  map  of  the  city  with  two  lists 
of  furnished  houses;  villas,  for  Mrs.  Knowles; 
bungalows,  for  Mrs.  Winthrop. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  held  to  the  old  tradition  that 
houses  for  rent  are  usually  short  on  paint  and 
long  on  Nottingham  curtains.  But  as  they  drove 
down  the  famous  boulevard,  where  millionaires 
are  strung  together  with  pepper-trees  and  palms, 
83 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

she  was  met  with  one  surprise  after  another. 
Even  here  there  were  people  willing  to  empty 
their  closets  and  bureau  drawers  for  a  price — to 
bare  the  soul  of  their  houses  for  a  consideration. 

The  driver  spoke  for  the  first  time —  "This 
avenue  began  as  a  path  through  orange  groves, 
later  it  widened  into  a  road  and  now — is  one  of 
the  most  famous  boulevards  in  the  world." 

His  voice  was  hollow  and  suggested  a  weak 
chest.  June  looked  at  him  sharply.  There  was 
something  strangely  familiar  about  the  man.  No, 
she  had  never  seen  him  before,  but  how  did  she 
come  by  this  impression! 


IT  had  been   agreed  that   Mrs.   Knowles 
should  make  her  choice  of  a  house  first. 
They   drove   the   entire   length   of  the 
boulevard  and  back  again  comparing  the 
house  numbers  with  their  list.    Then  began  the 
examination  at  closer  range. 

Important  butlers  opened  doors  that  were  in 
no  need  of  paint,  in  houses  where  the  curtains 
were  not  Nottingham.  Grand  dames  swept  down 
imposing  stairways  in  response  to  the  request  of 
strangers.  In  a  villa,  showing  Italian  influ- 
ence, a  society  butterfly  flitted  from  room  to 

85 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

room,  expatiating  on  the  advantages  of  her  par- 
ticular chrysalis;  she  was  leaving  for  a  winter's 
stay  on  the  continent.  One  handsome  house  was 
at  their  disposal  because  the  family  had  left  for 
a  year  in  Japan.  It  seemed  to  them  that  they 
had  the  refusal  of  the  whole  boulevard. 

The  majority  of  the  houses  were  held  at  a 
rental  sufficiently  high  to  satisfy  Mrs.  Knowles, 
who  always  judged  the  show  by  the  price  of  the 
ticket.  She  found  it  difficult,  however,  to  arrive 
at  a  decision.  "I  noticed  that  the  piano  legs 
were  not  dusted,"  she  confided  to  Mrs.  Win- 
throp,  as  they  left  one  house.  "Now  people 
who  don't  dust  their  piano  legs,  can't  be  trusted 
to  leave  the  house  in  good  order  for  a  tenant." 

A  little  farther  on  Mrs.  Knowles  spied  a  vil- 
la that  looked  very  much  like  a  birthday  cake  in 
a  cheap  confectionery  shop —  It  was  so  arti- 
ficial, 'twas  little  wonder  that  it  pleased  her. 
But — it  was  off  the  boulevard !  How  could  she 
live  there ! 

Mrs.  Winthrop  and  June  had  no  difficulty 
in  foreseeing  what  her  decision  would  be. 
86 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

The  fire-places  in  this  villa  were  still  in  their 
virgin  freshness.  The  owner  requested  tenants 
not  to  build  fires  in  them.  It  would  smoke  them ! 
The  ornate  candlesticks  in  the  drawing-room 
held  candles,  to  be  sure.  But  unlike  Little  Nan- 
cy Etticoat,  they  did  not  grow  shorter  by  the 
conflagration  of  their  noses — they  had  never 
known  flame. 

It  was  altogether  an  environment  into  which 
Mrs.  Knowles  fitted  as  if  it  had  been  made  for 
her.  She  pinched  the  mattresses,  to  see  if  they 
were  soft.  She  felt  the  china,  to  see  if  it  was 
hard.  In  spite  of  all  her  minute  inspection,  she 
forgot  to  look  into  the  coffee  pot  and  she  did  not 
count  the  cooking  forks.  At  length  she  an- 
nounced her  decision  to  take  the  villa. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  had  been  dragged  up  attic — 
and  down  cellar  stairs  till  she  was  weak  with  fa- 
tigue. As  they  went  through  a  dark  passage- 
way, she  quoted  to  June — 

"How  steep  his  path 
Who  treadeth  up  and  down  another's  stairs." 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"Lean  on  me,  Mother,"  June  said  affection- 
ately, though  she  herself  looked  like  a  frail 
lily. 

When  they  were  in  the  carriage  again  they 
turned  into  a  quiet  street — almost  like  a  lane 
between  orchards.  It  was  the  Winthrops'  turn 
to  search  for  a  house.  At  first  their  experiences 
were  much  like  those  of  the  three  bears.  The 
houses  were  either  too  small  or  too  large. 

At  last  they  came  upon  one  which  June  called 
"a  perfect  dear!"  It  was  low  and  rambling, 
partly  hidden  by  orange  trees,  and  built  about  a 
patio,  which  also  connected  with  the  garden  by  a 
rose-covered  pergola.  Sun-loving  heliotrope 
covered  the  walls  and  specked  them  with  a  faint 
purple.  It  blended  its  fragrance  with  that  of 
the  starry  jasmine  which  festooned  the  arches 
of  the  courtyard. 

Mrs.  Knowles  knew  about  this  place.  The 
woman  who  built  the  house  had  gone  East  in  a 
fit  of  homesickness,  and  left  it  in  the  charge  of 
the  gardener. 

A  front  door  is  a  tell-tale  thing!  The  carc- 
88 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

taker  lifted  the  huge  latch — a  hand-made  affair 
of  Mexican  workmanship.  The  living  room,  in- 
to which  the  door  opened  directly,  proved  in  no 
way  a  disappointment.  It  ran  the  whole  width 
of  the  bungalow  and  opened  into  the  patio  by 
glass  doors.  The  ceiling  was  beamed.  The  fur- 
nishings were  antique. 

"Why,  mother,"  said  June,  as  she  stepped  in- 
side, "do  see  all  the  pretty  little  casement  win- 
dows— and  the  quaint  curtains  that  just  go  with 
the  wall!  One — two — three — why,  there  are 
seventeen  of  them  I" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  surveyed  the  room  with  satis- 
faction, as  she  sank  down  upon  an  inviting  Da- 
venport. "I  feel  at  home  for  the  first  time  since 
I  left  Boston." 

Mrs.  Knowles  looked  about  critically!  "But, 
my  dears,"  she  exclaimed,  "there's  not  a  single 
thing  that's  new  1" 

"I  sincerely  hope  not."  Mrs.  Winthrop  spoke 
with  some  asperity. 

June  was  enthusiastic  over  the  great  fire- 
place. Logs  were  laid,  all  ready  to  blaze  out  at 
89 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

the  scratch  of  a  match.  Two  little  prayer  chairs 
brought  from  an  old  English  cathedral  stood 
on  either  side  the  chimney.  A  "Sleepy  Hollow" 
was  placed  at  a  tempting  distance.  The  colonial 
desk  at  the  end  of  the  room  no  doubt  already 
knew  many  secrets.  It  stood  open  as  if  ready  to 
receive  more.  A  grandfather's  clock  in  the  cor- 
ner ticked  in  most  friendly  fashion.  It  robbed 
the  place  of  that  deserted  air  which  vacant 
houses  so  often  have. 

"This  must  be  the  dining-room!"  June  said, 
as  she  opened  a  door.  "Why,  no !  its  the  but- 
ler's pantry.  But  where's  the  dining-room?" 
She  appealed  to  the  care-taker. 

"Folks  always  eats  in  this  end  o'  th'  big 
room.  I  dunno  no  bettah  place  for  a  beautifu' 
young  lady  an'  her  han'some  mother  to  eat  their 
three  meals  a  day  in."  The  caretaker  looked 
about  the  room  as  if  he  were  seeing  it  for  the 
first  time. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  was  shocked  at  his  familiarity. 
She  gasped.  "What  is  your  name?" — as  if  its 
disclosure  might  throw  some  light  on  the  situa- 
90 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

tion. 

"Michael  William."    He  bowed  politely. 

"Of  what  nationality  are  you?" 

*  'T  all  depen's  on  how  you  look  at  it!"  the 
man  answered  with  an  infectious  chuckle.  "I'as 
a  Spannich  frien'  an  he  #//ways  calls  a  hat  a  sum- 
brello  an'  he  gets  mad  when  I  calls  hit  a  hat. 
'Sacre!'  sezee,  'why  don't  you  call  a  sumbrello 
a  sumbrello?' —  Now  my  father  wuz  Irish  an' 
my  mother  wuz  cullud,  but  I'm  a  plain  man  an' 
I  tries  to  be  a  Christyun  an'  hits  no  mattah  ef 
you  calls  me  Mike,  ez  spoke  by  th'  ole  man,  or 
William,  ez  I  wuz  allways  noted  by  my  mother. 
I  wore  raised  in  Georgy  an'  my  wife  she  wore 
bawn  in  Allabammah.  I  jus'  reckin'  I'm  what 
you  calls  a  Suth'ner." 

A  smile  played  on  the  faces  of  the  three  wom- 
en. Mrs.  Winthrop  noticed  that  the  man  did 
not  speak  of  his  mother  as  "the  old  woman," 
and  straightway  believed  in  him.  She  said  quiet- 
ly "I  shall  call  you  William." 

Having  such  opposite  strains  to  contend  with 
in  William's  creation,  Nature  had  apparently 
91 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

compromised  by  giving  him  characteristics  of 
each.  Through  the  coppery  skin  of  his  keen  in- 
telligent face  shining  freckles  appeared.  They 
seemed  to  have  rusted  through  from  the  inside. 
His  hair  was  inky  black,  but  straight  and  brist- 
ling. His  eyes  were  blue  as  the  sky  above  him. 
His  thin,  mobile  lips  and  well  set  chin  gave  no 
hint  of  his  negro  blood.  His  rather  slender 
frame  sagged  unevenly  into  an  amplitude  of 
shoes.  This  gave  him  the  appearance  of  being 
out  of  drawing. 

"Its  plain  to  see,"  June  spoke  in  an  aside  to 
Mrs.  Knowles,  "that  the  man's  negro  blood  runs 
by  the  way  of  Cork." 

As  they  crossed  the  patio  Mrs.  Knowles  re- 
marked upon  the  beauty  of  the  day.  The  weath- 
er was  as  favorite  a  topic  with  her,  as  was  the 
fox  with  the  old  fabulists. 

No  one  replied.  Then  William  spoke  up. 
'  'Tis  a  fine  day,  to  be  sho'.  Th'  good  Lord's 
freezin'  all  th'  folks  back  East  so  they'll  be 
'bliged  to  come  out  heah." 

With  a  deferential  bow  William  opened  a 
92 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

door. 

"If  I  should  rent  this  bungalow,  William, 
would  you  work  for  us?" 

"I  reck'n  so."  Then,  as  if  seized  with  a  sud- 
den fear,  he  quickly  asked,  "You-all  ain't  frum 
Noo  Englan',  is  you?" 

"To  be  sure  we  are."  Mrs.  Winthrop  spoke 
with  emphasis. 

"Whales!"  William  exclaimed,  "I  wuk'd 
onct  for  Noo  Englan'  folks.  My  Lord,  but  they 
wore  teejus  I" 

Mrs.  Knowles  laughed  out  gaily.  This  seemed 
to  give  William  courage. 

"But  you-all  do  seem  right  plesunt — I'm  will- 
in'  to  give  you  a  trial." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop  a  little  stiff- 
ly. "You'll  try  us  and  we'll  try  you.  I  forgot 
to  inquire  what  wages  you  want.  Perhaps  we 
can't  afford  to  have  you." 

"Forty  dollar  a  month  an'  find  myself,"  Will- 
iam answered  promptly. 

"That  is  satisfactory,  you  may  come." 

"What  shall  we  do  about  laundry?" 
93 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

said  June,  who  had  a  turn  for  details.  "There 
seem  to  be  no  tubs." 

"I  reck'n  my  wife  might  'commodate  you," 
said  William.  "I  don't  say  it  for  sho'.  You-all 
jus'  bettah  call  roun'  an  see.  My  wife  she's  purty 
pertickler  who  she  wuks  for.  She  nevah  kin 
for'git  ez  her  folks  wore  slaves  to  one  o'  th' 
best  famblys  o'  th'  South.  Ef  you  do  goes, 
don't  tell  'er  ez  I  eggvised  you  to  go.  Jus'  say 
I  thot  ez  how  hit  wore  doubtfu'  an'  I  reckon 
she'll  do't.' 

William's  tone  was  reassuring. 

"Very  well,  William,  now  do  you  know  of  a 
cook?" 

Mrs.  Knowles  answered  the  question  put  to 
William.  "There's  no  trouble  about  a  cook, 
all  you  need  to  do  is  to  go  to  a — Japanese 
agency." 

"Then  I  think  everything  is  settled,"  Mrs. 
Winthrop  appealed  to  June:  "Do  you  think 
we  could  be  ready  to  move  by  day  after  tomor- 
row?" 

June  nodded.  Her  mind  for  the  moment  was 
94 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

busy  trying  to  place  the  driver. 

When  they  got  out  of  the  carriage  at  the  ho- 
tel the  driver  handed  Mrs.  Knowles  a  card — 
"Here  is  my  phone  number  and  address,"  he 
said,  "perhaps  you  will  let  me  drive  you  again." 

June  started.  This  time  she  felt  certain  she 
knew  where  she  had  heard  the  voice. 

"What  is  that  man's  name?"  she  asked  Mrs. 
Knowles,  as  they  turned  to  go  up  the  walk. 

"Dodge, "Mrs. Knowles  answered.  She  looked 
down  at  the  card  in  her  hand — "Franklin  G. 
Dodge." 


95 


S3 


XI 

AT  least  one  dark  cloud  which  hung 
over  June,  was  dissipated.     Dick, 
the  bell-boy,  was  discharged  almost 
as  soon  as  he  was  arrested.     His 
arrest  had  been  a  precautionary  measure.     A 
slight  suspicion  fell  on  him  because  he  had  gone 
to  the  Mansfield  room  late,  the  night  of  the 
burglary,  with  ice  water,  just  as  Mrs.  Mansfield 
was  putting  away  some  of  the  gems. 

There  is  no  antidote  in  the  world  for  trouble 
96 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

equal  to  that  of  packing  trunks.  One  may  be 
love  sick  or  financially  embarrassed,  the  truth  re- 
mains :  a  certain  number  of  things  must  be  put  in 
a  given  space,  and  to  do  it  demands  one's  whole 
mind. 

June  had  just  finished  packing  two  as  the  clock 
struck  eleven  in  the  morning.  It  was  the  hour 
set  for  moving  into  the  new  home.  Handbags 
and  paper  boxes  were  piled  up  on  the  seats  of 
the  two  carriages.  In  one,  Mrs.  Winthrop  and 
June  were  visible  in  patches.  In  the  other,  occa- 
sional glimpses  were  to  be  had  of  the  Major  and 
Mrs.  Knowles. 

Mrs.  Knowles  was  greatly  disturbed.  June 
insisted  that  Dodge,  "the  Harvard  man"  should 
not  drive  either  family.  She  would  give  no  rea- 
son and  Mrs.  Knowles  was  allowed  to  put  her 
own  interpretation  upon  the  matter. 

When  the  Winthrops  opened  the  door  of  their 
bungalow,  they  were  greeted  by  a  bright  fire  on 
the  hearth  and  there  were  roses  in  a  bowl  on  the 
table. 

"How  thoughtful  of  William,"  said  Mrs. 
97 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Winthrop,  "I  believe  he  will  prove  a  treasure." 

"It's  all  just  perfect,"  June  exclaimed.  She 
made  a  little  tour  of  inspection  about  the  room. 
They  removed  their  wraps  and  Mrs.  Winthrop 
seated  herself  before  the  fire.  But  she  was  not 
long  left  to  her  ease. 

"Come,  mother  dear!"  June  urged  with 
feigned  cheerfulness.  She  took  her  hand  and 
tugged  at  her,  as  she  used  to  do  when  a  child. 
"Let's  explore!" 

Arm  in  arm  they  walked  through  the  French 
doors  out  into  the  patio. 

Startled  at  their  approach,  the  humming-birds 
left  the  pendant  fuchsia  blossoms.  Like  elfin  ar- 
rows they  darted  through  the  air.  Saucy  mock- 
ing birds  perched  on  the  top  of  the  cypress-trees 
almost  burst  their  little  throats.  They  were  in- 
dignant at  these  intruders.  Palms  cast  their  al- 
luring shade.  The  whole  place  breathed  of  re- 
pose. 

The  courtyard  gate  clicked.  A  young  man 
stepped  inside.  Evidently  he  too  was  bent  on 
discovery.  For  a  moment  the  vines  hid  his 


"Stepping  toward  them,  he  said  confusedly,   'Have 
I  the  honor  of  guest ?'" 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

face.  He  brushed  them  aside  and  said  con- 
fusedly, "Have  I  the  honor  of  guests?"  The 
man  was  George  Oliver. 

June  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot.  Her  cheeks 
flamed. 

"Guests!"  Mrs.  Winthrop  repeated  in  as- 
tonishment. She  did  not  turn  to  look  at  June, — 
"I  believe  the  honor  is  ours.  We  have  rented 
this  house." 

"Then  there  has  been  some  misunderstanding, 
• — the  color  had  left  Oliver's  face — I  have  rent- 
ed it  too — from  Page  and  Page — I  came  in  with 
my  servant  this  morning." 

"Oh !  we  rented  from  Storrow  and  Company," 
said  Mrs.  Winthrop. 

"That  explains  it  all,"  said  Oliver.  He  seemed 
relieved  that  the  matter  had  been  solved.  "The 
bungalow  must  have  been  listed  with  both  firms. 
They  neglected  to  notify  each  other  of  the  rent- 
al. I  see  now  why  I  had  so  much  difficulty  with 
the  gardener  in  charge.  He  insisted  that  he  ex- 
pected two  ladies."  As  he  finished  speaking 
Oliver  looked  at  June.  He  was  met  by  a  freez- 
99 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

ing  glance.  Very  much  discomforted  he  turned 
to  her  mother.  "You  will  remain,  of  course." 

"But  you  are  already  in  possession." 

"It  was  simply  an  experiment  on  my  part.  I 
thought  I  wanted — to  be  quiet — and — "  He 
did  not  finish  the  sentence.  "I've  begun  to  have 
doubts  of  my  ability  to  run  an  establishment. 
The  place  is  yours.  I  surrender  it  with  pleas- 
ure," Oliver  bowed.  "If  you  will  allow  me,  I 
will  go  inside  and  speak  to  my  servant' — my  lug- 
gage, fortunately,  has  not  yet  arrived." 

They  could  see  the  Japanese  boy  seated  by  the 
kitchen  table.  He  was  making  out  a  list  of  gro- 
ceries in  the  picturesque  characters  of  his  own 
language. 

Shortly  Oliver  and  his  servant  took  their 
leave. 

June  had  not  moved  or  spoken. 

William  came  out  of  the  garden.  He  peered 
in  through  one  of  the  arches  of  the  patio — 
"So  that  gentleman  did  belong  to  you-all! 
Whales  hit's  lucky  I  let  'im  in!" 

June  and  her  mother  had  gone  back  into  the 
100 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

living  room  and  were  sitting  before  the  fire. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  broke  the  silence.  "I  can  not 
imagine  why  Mr.  Oliver  would  think  of  taking 
a  house.  And  this  is  such  an  out-of-the-way 
place  for  a  man." 

"He  said  he  wanted  to  be  quiet,"  June  con- 
trolled her  voice  with  difficulty. 

"Daughter' — the  lines  about  Mrs.  Winthrop's 
mouth  were  tense.  "I  think  I  have  the  right  to 
know  what  the  trouble  has  been  between  you 
and  Mr.  Oliver." 

Her  mother's  words  were  like  the  thrust  of  a 
lance,  which  for  the  moment  June  was  unable 
to  parry. 

"Mother" — June  hesitated — the  fire  made  a 
play  of  light  and  shade  on  her  strained  face — 
"I  know  it  seems  strange  to  you — unnatural  per- 
haps, that  I  do  not  tell  you — everything.  But 
don't  feel  hurt,  I  beg  of  you!  Wait' — wait  just 
a  little  longer!  Something  dreadful  has  hap- 
pened, but  there  are  things  I  must  know  for  cer- 
tain before  I  speak.  It  is  a  case  of  life  and 
death  almost,  to  me  and  to  others.  Trust  me, 
101 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

just   a   little   longer — until   I   can  hear — from 
Jack." 

"It  must  be  something  dreadful  if  you  cannot 
tell  your  mother."  But  Mrs.  Winthrop's  aus- 
tere face  softened  as  she  read  the  pain  in  June's. 
"I  will  wait,"  she  said  calmly — "until  you  choose 
to  tell  me." 


102 


XII 

EACH  morning  June  was  to  work  in  the 
garden  for  an  hour.  Those  were  the 
doctor's  instructions. 

William  was  as  happy  as  if  he  had 
been  given  a  holiday,  for  he  was  now  sure  of  an 
audience.  "What  you  need,  Miss  June,  is  stim- 
ulation." 

It  was  the  first  morning  June  had  joined  him 
in  the  garden. 

"Now  th'  place  to  git  it  is  out  o  'th'  groun'. 
103 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Folks  ez  comes  out  heah  for  their  health  sets  in 
th'  house  too  much  a-readin'  books  an'  don't  git 
no  'speriences  of  their  own.  You  nevah'll  bow 
up  on  what  other  folk's  done  in  books."  He 
turned  his  head  and  looked  at  June  intently.  "I 
reck'n  a  little  burnt  wisky  ud  do  you  good.  Hit 
#//ways  helps  me  no  matter  what's  the  mattah." 

"You  ain't  gittin'  a  bone  fellun,  is  you,  Miss 
June?"  William  had  just  spaded  up  a  toad. 

"I  hope  not,  William." 

"Ef  you  is — I'll  save  this  toad  an'  bind  it 
on." 

"Alive  !"    June  cried  in  horror. 

"To  be  sho!  Onct  I  had  a  bone  fellun  an'  1 
boun'  on  a  live  toad  an'  it  tuck  all  th'  informa- 
tion out." 

June  bore  down  hard  on  the  handle  of  her 
small  spade.  She  was  trying  to  break  up  the 
ground  for  a  mignonette  bed.  Mrs.  Knowles 
drove  past  for  the  fourth  time  that  morning. 
June  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  but  she  had  not 
escaped  William's  watchful  eyes. 

"Hit's  a  pity  you'  frien'  ins't  bin  bawn  a 
104 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

postman  or  a  mess'nger  boy." 

"Why?  William,"  June  stopped  her  spad- 
ing. 

"Cause  she  'pears  to  like  goin'Nall  th'  time. 
Heaps  o'  folks  like  that  out  heah.  They  needs 
a  safety  wick  to  tell  'em  when  steam's  low — 
First  you  knows  they  gives  out — an'  they  blames 
th'  climate —  You's  'blidged  to  dig  that  little 
deeper,  Miss  June."  William's  tone  was  im- 
portant. "When  you  dunno  jus'  how  to  wuk — 
jus'  throw  you'  eye  my  terreckshun  an'  you'll 
see." 

"Very  well,  William,"  June  thrust  her  spade 
in  deeper. 

"I  reck'n  you  an'  me'll  git  on  purty  well 
gard'nin  t'gether,  Miss  June — cause  you  don't 
fluster  me.  You  see  I  doos  heart-wuk  in  th' 
flowus — I  loves  'em.  An'  I  can't  do  nothin' 
when  I'm  flustered.  Thar's  a  big  diff'runce 
'tween  heart-wuk  and  han-wuk.  You'll  find  out. 
Flowus  c'n  tell  th'  diff'runce.  When  you  does 
heart-wuk  th'  flowus  gits  to  be  you'  kinfolks. 
They's  mo'  reliabler'n  real  kinfolks  tho'  I  nevah 
105 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

monkeys  with  real  kinfolks.  Whales  alive! 
they'll  do  you  sho'." 

"Where  did  you  work  before  you  came  here?" 
June  asked ;  as  much  for  an  excuse  to  keep  Will- 
iam talking  as  anything  else. 

"Oh,  I  wukked  for  one  o'  th'  billyonaires  on 
th'  avanu' — he'll  die  presuntly — won't  need  no- 
body to  wuk  for  'im  nohow."  William's  tone 
was  cheerful.  June  looked  up.  "You  knows, 
Miss  June,  rich  folks  lives  shorter  'n  po'  ones." 

"No,  I  didn't  know  it,  William." 

"Don't  you  know  how  rich  folks  doos,  Miss 
June?  W'y  they  wuks  an'  wurrits  night  an' 
day  a-gatherin'  gold — 'n  when  they  gits  it  they 
lets  it  out'n  vestermunts  an  fine  hosses  an'  fine 
carrldges  an'  orterwozt'bils — an'  they  wurrits  an' 
wurrits  night  an'  day  a-fearin'  hit'll  roll 
clean  'way  frum  em.  At  last  they  gits 
out  o'  breath  an'  falls  dead.  My  billyonaire's 
topplin'  a'ready — he'll  soon  be  down.  He  hath 
swallered  down  riches  an'  he  shall  vomit  'em  up 
agin — that's  what  th'  Bibul  sez.  He's  goin'  'gin 
natcher,  Miss  June.  Nobody  can't  'ford  to  do  it 
106 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

— I  don't  care  how  rich  he  is !  Rich  folks  knows 
ef  they'd  plant  trees  an'  not  water  'em,  they'd 
die — but  they  nevah  gives  their  souls  a  single 
drop!" 

The  handle  of  June's  spade  was  loose.  Will- 
iam tightened  it. 

"Hits  a  quare  thing — but  William's  lived  a 
long  time — I  can't  jus'  say  how  long — hit  wore 
writ  down  in  th'  Bibul — but  mother  went  house- 
cleanin'  an'  our  house  bu'n'd  up.  Least-ways  I's 
fl//ways  obswerved  that  folks  ez  looks  aftah  their 
gardins  looks  aftah  their  souls.  You  don't  nevah 
see  disrespectabul  folks  a-nursin'  flowus.  When 
folks  is  weedin'  their  gardins,  Miss  June,  they's 
likely  to  be  pluckin'  envy  an'  discontent  out  of 
their  souls." 

June  was  listening  attentively. 

Suddenly  William  changed  his  subject.  "I  met 
you'  young  man  down  town  early  this  mawnin' 
a-ridin'  in  a  fine  orterwow;bil  an'  he  smile  jus' 
ez  plesunt  ez  ef  I'd  bin  one  o'  these  patent  med- 
acin'  presidents.  An'  he  slow  down  kinder  sud- 
dint  en  sezee  'How's  you,  William  ?'  An'  scz  I 
107 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

'Well,  thanks  you,  an'  th'  young  lady's  improv- 
in',  thanks  you.'  " 

uOh,  William!"  June  cried  in  dismay. 
"What  made  you  mention  me?" 

"William  knows  human  natcher,  Miss  June, 
I  knows  he  didn't  want  to  know  nothin'  'bout  po' 
ole  William — 'Any  telefone  up  to  you'  house?' 
sezee,  'I  didn't  stay  long  'nough  to  find  out.' 
'Yasser,'  sez  I,  'I  see  Miss  June  a-telefonin'.'  He 
jus'  take  a  little  book  out  o'  'is  pocket  an'  he 
ask  'What  kind  a  telefone.'  I  tole  'im  hit  wore 
a  mighty  nice  silver'd  one  ez  sets  on  a  table — an' 
he  kin'  o'  laugh — I  didn'  see  nothin'  funny — an' 
he  want  to  know  'Is  hit  a  Home-fone  or  a  Sun- 
set-fone?'  'My  Lord!'  sez  I,  Vy  don't  you 
try  th'  front  do'?  You'll  git  mo'  satifackshun 
out  of  it.'  An'  he  thanks  me  mos'  polite  an  go 
off. —  Th'  oil-roads  roun'  heah  sho'  is  fine,  Miss 
June.  You'd  jus'  bettah  keep  kin'  o'  closte  home 
for  a  day  or  two,  you  might  git  Vited  to  'spect 
'cm." 

"William,"  June  tried  to  be  very  severe, 
"don't  you  ever  mention  that  man  to  me,  or 
108 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

speak  to  him  again  of  me  as  long  as  you  live." 

"I  don't  mean  no  'fence,  Miss  June,  but  you 
sho'  can't  git  roun'  this  country  an'  see  nothin' 
'less  you's  got  wheels  o'  some  kind.  Ef  I  wore 
you  I  wouldn't  negleck  my  resources — hit  don't 
pay." 

There  was  a  pleasant  sound  in  William's 
throat  like  the  gurgling  of  water  over  stones. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  came  into  the  garden,  and 
beckoned  to  June.  When  they  had  taken  seats 
in  the  summer-house  she  said,  "What  am  I  go- 
ing to  do  with  the  cook — Hara.  I  ordered  a  leg 
of  mutton  for  tomorrow.  It  just  came.  Hara 
declares  he  won't  cook  it  on  Sunday.  He  says 
it  will  keep  till  Monday  and  I  must  get  chickens. 
He  says  he  won't  cook  anything  but  chickens  for 
Sunday,  and  he  must  have  them  right  away  to 
prepare  them." 

"I'm  sure,  mother,  I  don't  know  what  you  can 
do,  unless  you  humor  him." 

"Or  send  him  away!     On  the  whole,  though, 
he's  too  valuable  to  lose.     But  how  am  I  to  get 
chickens  here  within  an  hour?" 
109 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"I'll  tell  you!  Call  up  Mrs.  Knowles.  This 
is  her  day  to  have  a  carriage.  She  has  been  past 
several  times.  She  may  be  at  the  house  now. 
Ask  her  if  she  won't  drive  you  down  street. 

"I  believe  I  will." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  hurried  to  the  telephone.  Yes, 
Mrs.  Knowles  had  just  driven  up —  She  would 
be  right  over. 

As  Mrs.  Knowles  and  Mrs.  Winthrop  entered 
the  market,  a  ruddy-faced,  white-aproned  young 
fellow  stepped  forward  to  wait  upon  them. 

"I  would  like  some  nice  chickens,"  Mrs.  Win- 
throp said  in  her  usual  low  voice. 

The  boy  thought  she  was  deaf.  "Local?"  he 
asked,  in  a  loud  tone. 

"Local!"     Mrs.  Winthrop  echoed  faintly. 

Still  sure  that  his  customer  was  hard  of  hear- 
ing, the  boy  shouted,  "Do  you  want  local  hens 
madam?" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  glanced  appealingly  at  Mrs. 
Knowles.  With  a  touch  of  severity,  Mrs. 
Knowles  said,  "Will  you  kindly  tell  us  what  you 
mean  by  local  hens?" 

no 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"Oh,  I  see !  you're  toorists,  ain't  ye?  A  local 
hen,  ladies,  is  one  raised  hereabouts,  not  a  cold 
storage  Easterner — embalmed — some  folks  call 
'em — they'er  cheaper  'n  locals." 

Mrs.  Knowles  turned  away  with  a  motion  of 
disgust. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  shuddered — then,  swallowing 
hard,  she  said —  "You  may  pick  me  out  two 
nice  locals."  She  gave  her  address. 

As  they  left  the  shop  Mrs.  Winthrop  spied  a 
grocer's  across  the  street.  "Oh,  do  see  those 
nice  strawberries  and  green  peas!  Let's  get 
some." 

"How  much  are  those  peas  a  peck?"  she  point- 
ed at  the  box  with  her  umbrella.  Though  it  was 
only  foggy  she  thought  it  was  going  to  rain. 

The  clerk  eyed  the  umbrella.  "A  tenderfoot!" 
he  said  to  himself.  "We  don't  sell  'em  by  the 
peck,  madam, — by  the  pound." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  was  nonplused.  "I'll  take — 
I'll  take  ten  pounds,  please." 

"Big  family,  hav'n't  you?"  the  clerk  laughed. 

"Not  at  all!"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop  decidedly, 
in 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"Ten  pounds  is  an  awful  lot!"  The  clerk 
began  weighing  them  out,  piling  them  higher  and 
higher  on  the  scales. 

"I  think  three  pounds  will  do!"  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  finally  said.  Even  then  she  was  astonished 
at  the  size  of  the  package. 

"How  much  are  they?" 

"Two  bits!"  the  clerk  said  flippantly,  as  if 
the  price  were  not  worth  mentioning. 

"That  means  twenty-five  cents,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  explained  in  a  patronizing  tone. 

"Anything  else  I  can  do  for  you?"  the  man 
asked  • —  "butter  —  eggs  —  sugar — oranges — 
spuds — very  nice  today." 

"I  don't  believe  I  know  what  kind  of  a  fruit 
a  'spud'  is,"  Mrs.  Winthrop  acknowledged. 

"Spuds" — the  corner  of  the  man's  mouth 
twitched — "are  potatoes.  We  sell  'em  by  the 
pound — same  as  peas." 

With  the  package  of  peas  still  in  mind,  Mrs. 
Winthrop  said;  "I'll  take  three  pounds." 

The  man  weighed  out  seven  potatoes. 

On  their  way  home  they  stopped  at  the  hotel 
112 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

to  make  a  short  call  on  some  friends.  There 
they  heard  the  latest  news  in  regard  to  the  burg- 
lary: the  officers  had  a  new  clue,  and  were  now 
on  the  trail  of  a  man  who  had  been  seen  in  the 
garden  on  the  evening  that  the  Mansfields  were 
robbed. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  casually  repeated  what  she 
had  heard  to  June  without  the  least  idea  that  the 
information  was  of  any  importance  to  her. 


XIII 

JUNE  was  late  in  coming  into  the  garden. 
"Mawnin',   Miss  June,"  William  look- 
ed at  her  reproachfully,  "you  wore  so  late 
I   reck'n'd  maybe  you'd  giv'n  up  you 
gardenin'  t'day." 

"No,  but  I  didn't  sleep  well,"  June  walked 
slowly  and  sank  down  on  a  garden  seat.  A 
shadow  passed  over  her  face. 

"I's  fear'd,  Miss  June,  you's  worritin'  'bout 
you'se'f — William  sees — don't  you  do  hit !    You 
114 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

can't  'ford  it.  You's  going  to  be  all  right." 
William  spoke  with  assurance.  "Ef  you  don't  git 
well  presently  you's  gotter  climb  ovah  a  mount'n 
o'  my  prayers  to  keep  sick." 

"Do  you  pray  for  me,  William?" 

"Sho'  I  doos !  Ev'ry  night  William  gets  on 
'is  knees  an'  ask  th'  Lord  to  bless  th'  blue  hen's 
chick'n." 

"Bless  what,  William?" 

"The  blue  hen's  chick'n,"  William  repeated. 
He  waited  a  moment,  then  glanced  up  at  June 
from  the  geranium  bed.  "God  an'  me  knows 
who  'tis."  In  a  confidential  tone,  he  continued 
—  "Ef  you'd  like  to  be  in  th'  seekrit,  Miss 
June" — he  turned  his  head  to  one  side,  then  to 
the  other,  scrutinizing  his  work — "hit's  a  very 
plesunt  young  lady  here  'bouts.  Some  folks 
calls  'er  'Miss  June'  an'  some  folks  calls  'er  'Miss 
Winthrop'." 

"But  I  can't  imagine  why  you  call  me  "the 
blue  hen's  chicken,  William."  There  was  ten- 
derness in  June's  voice. 

"Hit's  jus'  th'  nicest  name  I  knows.    You-all 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

don't  hear  nothin'  in  Bawston,  doos  you?  Well 
— way  down  in  th'  south  o'  Georgy  thar  wuz 
an  ole  man  ez  wore  rais'n  thousan's  o'  chick'ns. 
One  mawnin'  he  wen't  out  an'  one  wore  blue. 
Ev'ry  mawnin'  aftah  that  when  he  look  out' 
early,  he  see  th'  blue  chick'n  up  a-gittin'  hit's 
breakfust  an'  hit  growed  twicet  ez  fast  ez  th' 
yuthers  an'  wuz  th'  finest  chick'n  you  evah  see 
• — an'  smaht — whales  alive!  folks  come  frum 
all  roun'  to  see  that  chick'n.  One  day  the  ole 
man  couldn'  find  'er  nowhars.  Bimeby  didn't 
she  come  a-wakkin'  in  th'  yhd  with  a  duzzun 
blue  chic'ns.  Folks  wus  jus'  wild!  an'  they 
want'd  to  buy  'em  an'  that  ole  man  he  mos' 
git  rich  a-sellin'  th'  chick'ns  of  th'  blue  hen.  He 
sole  em  an'  sole  em  an'  they  wore  so  smaht  an' 
han'some —  When  folks  down  thar  want  to  say 
sump'n  awful  nice  'bout  you,  they  say  you  wore 
a  'blue  hen's  chick'n.'  An'  that's  what  I  calls 
jus'  th'  nicest  young  lady  I  knows!" 

June's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  'Pears  like  ev'rythin'  got  dew  on  it  this 
mawnin'."  William  put  on  a  very  innocent  look. 
116 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"Th'  climates  a-changin'  out  heah.  Hit's 
damper'n  it  use  to  be — so  many  toorist  comin' 
all  th'  time — they  brings  'lecktric'ty  an'  it  gits 
into  th'  airs." 

June  laughed.  "Sun's  comin'  out  all  right !" 
William  gave  a  furtive  glance  at  June. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  tool-house  for  her 
rake.  "How  could  tourists  bring  electricity, 
William?"  she  asked,  when  she  came  back. 

"Well,  they  doos,"  William  insisted,  sho'  they 
doos !  An'  ev'ry  wintah  they  brings  th'  grip — 
whales !  in  th'  ole  Spannich  days  thar  nevah  wuz 
no  'flewenzah — toorist  brings  it  all!" 

"Why  William,  you  make  out  the  tourists  to 
be  dreadful  people !"  June  put  on  an  offended 
air.  "They  bring  a  lot  of  things  beside  elec- 
tricity and  influenza,  don't  they.  How  about 
money,  for  instance?" 

"Sho',  Miss  June,  I  ain't  condamm*  'em.  I 
knows  th'  country  wouldn't  be  nothin'  'thout  'em 
— an'  its  good  for  we-all  that  they  comes. 
Couldn't  nobody  find  nuther  country  like  this 
thol  Hits  a  reg'ler  'partmcnt  sto'.  You  kin  find 
117 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

jus'  ennythin'you  wants.  Tender's  th'  sea  !"  Will- 
iam pointed  in  its  direction,  "an'  yonder's  th' 
mount'ns!"  he  reversed  his  spade  handle. 
"Heah's  roses — an'  thar's  snow !"  He  indicated 
the  garden  and  the  mountain  tops.  "Ev'rythin' 
out  heah  ceptin'  young  men,  Miss  June,  an' 
they's  scurser'n  hen's  teeth ! — that's  w'y  I  didn' 
want  you  to  fall  down  on  you'  resours'ts.  When 
a  nice  Eastern  genterman  come  along,  you  bet- 
tah  jus'  pluck  'im!" 

"I  didn't  come  out  here  for  a  husband,  Will- 
iam," June  said  rather  crossly. 

"Sho'  you  didn',  Miss  June — but  ef  you'd  git 
hit  by  a  love-arrow  you  couldn'  help  you'se'f 
nohow." 

"I  don't  believe,"  June  said  by  way  of  turning 
the  conversation,  "that  these  rose-slips  are  going 
to  grow.  The  ground's  too  hard." 

"You's  right  'bout  one  thing,  Miss  June,  all- 
ways  'spect  th'  wust  an'  ef  hit  don't  happun  you's 
jus'  that  much  'head.  /  thinks  th'  slips'll  grow, 
but  ef  they  don't  you  jus'  keep  on  a-tryin'.  Folks 
ez  don't  try  for  nothin'  in  this  world  ain't  good 
118 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

for  nothin'.  Wuk — but  don't  wurrits  1  I  nevah 
wurrits  'bout  nothin'  nohow  less  I  knows  hit's 
goin'  to  happun  'forehand.  Jus'  make  a  kite  o' 
care  an'  fly  it  'bove  you'  head  ez  high  ez  you 
kin."— 

William  was  spading  a  little  strip  of  ground 
just  outside  the  courtyard.  June  wanted  to  fill 
up  a  bare  spot. 

"S'posin'  we  plant  a  row  o'  callas  under  th' 
arch,  Miss  June,  they'd  come  in  handy  in  case  of 
a  weddinV 

"Oh,  mercy!"  June  exclaimed,  "they  are 
more  suggestive  of  funerals  to  me.  I  wouldn't 
have  one  on  the  place  for  worlds." 

"Now  ain't  that  quare!  My  Lord!  that's 
jus'  th'  way  I  feels  'bout  white  shoes.  Enny 
jeckshun  to  my  puttin'  Easter  lilies  in  thar?" 

"Oh  no,  William." 

William's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  callas. 
"I  ain't  nevah  see  many  dead  ladies,  but  them  ez 
I  did  see  <z//-ways  wore  white  shoes —  But  we 
ain't  goin'  to  have  no  fewnerals —  You's  th' 
only  likely  one,  Miss  June,  an  ef  you  keeps  on 
119 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

a-gard'nin',  you'll  cheat  th'  groun'  o'  yo'  pres- 
unts  by  a-wukkin'  in  it."  William  chuckled. 

June  made  no  reply,  but  gave  a  slight  shiver. 

William  was  quick  to  see  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake —  "You  ain't  sick  nohow,  Miss  June," 
he  said  diplomatically,  "You's  jus'  mildood  a  lit- 
tle. You's  jus'  lately  bin  transplant'd  frum 
Massjoosuts.  Folks  is  like  flowus — transplant'n 
'em  wilts  'em.  Don't  'spect  too  much  o'  nothin' 
til  hits  tuck'n  root.  When  I  fust  come  heah 
from  Georgy  this  soil  did'n  seem  to  'gree  with 
me.  I  had  ammonya  an'  I  had  casterd  oil.  My 
Lord !  I  jus'  thot  th'd  kill  me — but  I  git  rooted 
onct  mo' !" 

The  postman  whistled,  down  the  street  June 
went  quickly  toward  the  gate. 

"You  ain't  finished,  is  you,  Miss  June?" 

"No  William' — her  eyes  were  toward  the 
street,  "but  I  want  to  get  the  mail." 

June  met  the  postman  as  he  came  round  the 

corner.    He  held  a  solitary  letter  in  his  hand.  Of 

course  it  would  be  from  Jack!     She  took  it — 

looked  at  the  address — turned  it  over — scruti- 

120 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

nized  the  back.  In  evident  despair,  she  sat  down 
on  a  big  stone  at  the  corner  of  a  flower-bed. 

The  letter  which  she  held  was  her  own  letter 
to  Jack' — but — addressed  to  Boston  instead  of 
New  York  City!  In  the  upper  left-hand  cor- 
ner she  had  written  her  name  and  the  hotel  ad- 
dress. Now  it  had  come  back  to  her,  after  all 
these  days  of  waiting !  She  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  tried  to  think. 

"I'll  'scuse  you  frum  gard'nin  enny  mo'  this 
mawnin',  Miss  June."  William  called  out.  "You 
jus'  go  in  th'  house  an'  read  you'  Bibul  an'  rest 
a  wile." 

June  rushed  to  her  room,  and  put  Jack's  let- 
ter in  a  new  envelope  this  time  addressed  to  New 
York  City.  She  also  added  a  note,  telling  him 
of  everything  that  had  happened  since  she  first 
wrote,  and  begging  him  to  advise  her  in  detail 
just  what  to  do. 

After  dinner  June  took  up  the  evening  paper 
and  read,  in  a  column  devoted  to  news  of  the  ho- 
tel— which  she  and  her  mother  had  just  left — 


121 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"A  carriage  driver  by  the  name  of  Franklin 
Dodge  has  on  several  occasions  been  seen  loiter- 
ing about  the  hotel  gardens.  He  was  seen  there 
on  the  night  of  the  Mansfield  robbery,  and  is  no 
doubt,  the  much  wanted  man.  But  so  far  it  has 
been  impossible  to  locate  him." 


122 


XIV 

MRS.  KNOWLES  had  dropped  in 
early.     Something  was  evidently 
on  her  mind.  She  sat  in  the  patio 
with  June  and  Mrs.  Winthrop. 
"I  want  to  know,"  she  began,  "whether  you  both 
saw  that  dreadful  thing  in  'The  Evening  News' 
about  Franklin  Dodge?" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  said  "yes,"  and  June  moved 
her  head  in  the  affirmative. 

"I  think  it's  an  outrage!"       Mrs.  Knowles 
123 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

took  off  her  wraps.  "The  very  idea !  why,  he's 
one  of  the  nicest  men  I  ever  knew  in  my  life.  I 
phoned  down  to  the  hotel  this  morning  and  told 
them  just  what  I  thought  of  such  proceedings. 
But  the  clerk  laughed  and  said  he  guessed 
Dodge  was  the  man  all  right,  if  he  could  be 
found.  Found  indeed !  He's  probably  driving 
around  the  corner, — but  when  he  is  found,  Ma- 
jor Knowles  is  going  to  see  that  he  has  bail — 
or  anything  else  of  which  he  is  in  need." 

It  was  time  for  June  to  go  to  her  gardening, 
but  she  still  sat  there.  "Have  you  heard,"  she 
asked  Mrs.  Knowles,  "whether  any  one  else  is 
implicated  with  Dodge?" 

"No,  I've  heard  nothing,  only  what  I  read  in 
the  paper  last  night,  and  what  the  hotel  clerk 
told  me  this  morning.  That  was  more  than  I 
wanted  to  hear.  And  such  a  time  as  I've  been 
having  with  help,  too !  I  should  like,"  she  con- 
tinued fairly  out  of  breath,  "to  have  the  people 
who  don't  believe  in  a  war  with  Japan,  just  go 
through  one  engagement  with  Toki,  my  cook." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  just  sympathetic 
124 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

enough  to  be  polite. 

There  was  a  saucy  twinkle  in  June's  eye  in 
spite  of  the  weight  on  her  heart  as  she  asked. 
"What  is  the  trouble,  Mrs.  Knowles?" 

"Well!"  Mrs.  Knowles  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  to  make  herself  more  comfortable,  "you 
know  I  always  prefer  to  do  my  own  ordering. 
Yesterday  morning  Toki  heard  me  telephoning 
for  macaroni.  He  made  a  terrible  clatter,  drop- 
ing  a  pan  he  was  washing,  and  rushed  into  the 
telephone  room  saying,  'You  get  please  line 
bran!'  I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  what  he  meant. 
I  had  to  ask  him  over  several  times  and  every 
time  he  said  'line  bran.'  I  couldn't  make  head 
or  tail  out  of  it.  Then  of  course  the  girl  at  the 
phone  got  angry,  because  I  kept  her  waiting  so 
long,  and  while  she  kept  saying  'What  is  it, 
lady?'  in  one  ear,  Toki  was  shouting  'line  bran' 
in  the  other.  Finally  Toki  let  out  such  a  roar 
that  I  dropped  the  receiver —  Then  it  all  came 
over  me —  Toki  was  roaring  like  a  lion,  to 
show  me  that  it  was  the  Lion  Brand  of  maca- 
roni that  he  wanted."  Mrs.  Knowles  reached 
125 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

out  and  broke  off  a  sprig  of  heliotrope.  "Then 
of  course,"  she  took  a  long  sniff  at  the  flowers, 
"I  had  an  awful  time  getting  the  number  again. 
But  that  wasn't  the  end  of  it."  Her  face  flushed. 
"A  couple  of  hours  later  I  happened  to  be  in  the 
kitchen,  as  the  groceries  were  brought  in.  When 
Toki  saw  his  Lion  Brand  of  macaroni,  his  face 
beamed  and  he  thanked  me  'so  many'  as  he  al- 
ways says  it — when  he  looked  at  the  bill,  his 
face  fell.  'You  pay  too  high !'  " —  Mrs.  Knowles 
tried  to  speak  like  a  Japanese  boy.  She  fanned 
herself  with  her  handkerchief —  "And  then  I 
found  that  he  was  objecting  to  the  fact  that  I 
had  been  charged  twenty  cents  a  package 
straight,  in  place  of  two  for  thirty-five,  as  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  getting  it.  Now  what  do 
you  think?"  Mrs.  Knowles  raised  her  voice. 
"We  expected  company  for  luncheon  and  Toki 
refused  to  make  croquettes  out  of  that  macaroni ! 
because  it  cost  too  much — and  nothing  I  could 
say  would  budge  him  an  inch.  So  there  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do,  but  to  order  a  carriage 
and  go  down  town  and  take  that  macaroni  back. 
126 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

When  I  got  there,  the  grocer  said  macaroni  had 
gone  up,  but  I  gave  the  boy  that  waited  on  me  a 
tip  to  mark  the  package  'two  for  thirty-five'' — 
and  that  carriage  cost  me  a  dollar  and  a  half  1" 

"But  why,"  June  asked,  "didn't  you  just  pre- 
tend to  Toki,  that  you  were  going  down  town, 
and  mark  the  price  yourself?" 

Mrs.  Knowles'  face  fell.  "My  dears  1"  she 
said,  looking  blankly  from  June  to  her  moth- 
er, "I  never  once  thought  of  it  I" 

After  this  blow  Mrs.  Knowles  relapsed  into 
silence.  She  soon  recovered,  however.  "Did  I 
tell  you,"  she  spoke  as  if  she  had  something  very 
important  to  communicate,  "that  we've  found 
five  holes  in  the  coffee-pot?  and  we  haven't  but 
one  cooking  fork  to  our  name  I  Think  of  it! 
We're  paying  five  hundred  dollars  a  month ! — a 
hundred  dollars  for  every  hole  in  that  coffee 
pot!" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  at  June  as  if  to  say, 
"What  can  one  reply  to  such  nonsense?" 

"According  to  your  reckoning,  Mrs. 
Knowles,"  June  interposed,  "you're  not  paying 
127 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

anything  for  the  cooking  fork." 

"Well,  I  should  say  I  am.  It  takes  half  of 
Toki's  time  to  wash  that  fork,  when  he's  cook- 
ing, and  I  pay  him  forty  dollars  a  month." 

"I  suppose,"  June  tantalized,  "that  if  one 
could  only  suggest  to  themselves  that  everything 
is  all  right,  it  would  help." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  shook  her  head  reprovingly 
at  June.  Mrs.  Knowles  took  the  girl  seriously. 
"It's  all  very  well,  my  dears,  when  one's  ill  or 
in  disgrace  but  there  are  two  things  to  which — 
in  my  belief — mental  science  does  not  apply — 
rented  houses  and  sons  of  Nippon.  It  was  in- 
tended for  simply  ordinary  things." 

Mrs.  Knowles  dropped  her  double  chin,  which 
signified  that  the  discussion  was  ended  as  far  as 
she  was  concerned.  She  rose  to  go. 

"It's  too  late  to  go  to  work  now,  mother," 
June  picked  up  her  garden  hat,  "but  I'm  just  go- 
ing out  to  talk  with  William  a  little  while.  He's 
so  funny  he  keeps  me  cheered  up." 

William  had  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Knowles 
as  she  crossed  the  patio.  When  June  appeared, 
128 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

he  said  "I's  bin  waitin'  for  you'  frien'  to  go. 
She  look  kin  o'  flusttud  this  mawnin'.  I  reck'n 
she  love  trubbul  like  a  priest  love  a  parrot ! 
Speaking  'bout  trubbul,  Miss  June,  my  wife's 
ailin'  turribul,"  William  stopped  his  work. 
"She's  f ailin'  fast,  I's  fear'd — co'se  we  ain't  all- 
ways  hitch' d — I  worn't  quite  stylish  'nough  for 
'er — but  now  she's  tuck'n  sick,  I  'pears  to  jus' 
suit  'er  an'  she  clings  to  me  jus'  like  a  wiltin1 
vine  to  a  ole  post." 


129 


ON  the    following  morning  William 
did  not  appear  at  the  usual  time. 
Mrs.  Winthrop  called  Hara  to  lay 
the  fire  in  the  living  room  and  to 
perform  other  small  duties  which  belonged  to 
William.     June  asked  him  to  sweep  the  court- 
yard.    This  was  the  signal  for  open  rebellion. 
"Too  much  work  here  !    I  find  you  strong  boy  I" 
Word  was  brought  from  William  that  his 
wife  had  died  during  the  night.     Mrs.  Win- 
130 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

throp  and  June  were  deep  in  conversation  over 
William's  affairs.  Hara  saw  his  opportunity. 
He  dropped  his  work  "My  cousin  very  sick.  I 
just  hear  last  night."  He  went  to  his  room  to 
pack. 

Mrs.  Knowles  put  in  an  appearance  inoppor- 
tunely. She  was  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs. 
"I  am  going  to  pay  my  social  debts,"  she  said, 
"and  I  came  to  ask  your  advice."  They  were 
sitting  in  the  living  room.  Mrs.  Knowles  had 
made  herself  comfortable  on  the  Davenport  with 
a  big  pillow  at  her  back.  "First,  who  am  I  to 
invite?"  Like  the  majority  of  people  who  ask 
advice,  Mrs.  Knowles  really  did  not  care  for  it. 
"I  believe  I  shall  be  obliged  to  have  three  par- 
ties"— she  looked  troubled — one  for  my  Epis- 
copalian friends — one  for  the  Presbyterians — I 
might  include  the  Congregationalists  and  Bap- 
tists and  Methodists  there,  possibly — and  one 
for  my  friends — well, — who  are  more  advanced 
in  religious  thought." 

Mrs.  Winthrop's  New  England  backbone  stif- 
fened. "I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  all  my 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

life!" 

"Well,  you  see,  while  one  church  is  as  good 
as  another,  they  have  very  different  ideas  about 
entertainment.  Now,  I  thought  of  having  a 
Bridge  party  for  the  Episcopalians — they  go  in 
more  for  style  than  the  others — and  of  course 
Bridge  is  the  thing  now."  Mrs.  Knowles  ad- 
justed the  pillow  at  her  back.  She  was  a  trifle 
disconcerted  by  Mrs.  Winthrop's  unsympathetic 
attitude.  But  not  for  long.  "The  churches  that 
don't  altogether  approve  of  cards,  compromise, 
you  know,  by  saying,  'Oh,  I  only  play  a  little 
Five  Hundred !'  "  She  tossed  the  last  sentence 
off  with  a  shrug.  "So  I  thought  I'd  give  a  Five 
Hundred  party  for  them" 

June  wore  a  whimsical  smile  and  kept  watch 
of  her  mother. 

"For  my  own  dear  progressive  friends,  who 
have  their  minds  on  higher  things" — Mrs. 
Knowles  took  on  an  air  of  superiority — "I 
thought  of  having  a  tea !" 

"But,  Mrs.  Knowles,  you  play  Bridge  a  great 
deal  yourself,  don't  you?"  asked  June,  by  way  of 
132 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

bringing  her  out  of  the  clouds. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  she  hesitated,  "I  am  sorry  to  say, 
I  haven't  yet  reached  a  plane  where  I  can  over- 
come the  temptation  to  play  a  good  game." 

There  was  a  loud  call  at  the  kitchen  door. 
"Veg — ee — tubbles  I" 

June  ran  off  to  interview  the  Chinaman.  As 
she  was  returning  to  Mrs.  Knowles  and  the  con- 
sideration of  her  "functions,"  she  spied  William 
coming  through  the  courtyard.  At  first,  she 
hardly  recognized  him.  He  was  dressed  in  new 
and  shining  black. 

"My  wife's  gone,  Miss  June!"  he  said  in  a 
hollow  voice,  as  he  came  toward  her. 

"I'm  sorry,  William,  very  sorry.  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you?" 

"I  dunno  ez  you  kin,  Miss  June,  maybe  you'd 
save  me  some  white  flowus  for  t'morrow.  She 
'spects  to  be  buried  t'morrow.  My  Lord! — I 
hopes  when  /  dies,  I  won't  be  tuck'n  to  th' 
cream'ry — th'  groun's  good  'nough  for  me. 
When  my  wife's  buried,  I'd  like  to  have  ev'ry- 
thin'  ez  stylish  ez  poss'bul.  My  wife  #//ways  laid 
133 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

great  sto'  on  bein'  stylish."  William  looked 
down  at  himself.  "Doos  you  think  I'm  dress' 
suitabul,  Miss  June?" 

"Yes,  perfectly  so,  William." 

"I'd  jus'  hate  to  wear  ennythin'  ez  would'n' 
be  my  wife's  tast',"  William  looked  way  off  into 
space.  "I  kin  see  now  ef  I'd  a  humor'd  my  wife 
'bout  things  when  she  wuz  livin'  like  I  have 
sence  she's  dead,  I  could  a  made  hit  a  heap 
plesunter  for  'er.  I'm  sorry  'bout  leavin  my 
wuk  this  mawnin'.  Maybe  Hara'll  do  hit  for 
me." 

"Hara's  going." 

"My  daddy!  whar's  he  goin'  to?" 

"I  don't  know,  I  asked  him  to  sweep  the 
courtyard,  and  he  immediately  said  his  cousin 
was  sick  and  that  he  had  to  go." 

"I  bet  that  woren't  th'  real  reason.  Ef  th' 
Lord  don't  hit  Hara  wid  his  trufe,  he'll  jus'  go 
on  a-varigatin'  til  th'  end  o'  time.  You  knows 
little  varigashuns  is  like  th'  seed  of  an  ugly  weed 
an'  ev'ry  time  you  repeats  'em  they  springs  up 
— hit's  jus'  ez  ef  you  puts  water  on  'em — 
134 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

fin'lly  that  ole  weed  gits  to  thrivin'  til  you  can't 
pull  it — to  save  you'  life  1  Whar  is  Hara?" 

"He  went  to  pack  up,"  June  answered. 

"I'll  find  'im." 

Hara,  with  his  suit  case  in  hand,  was  in  the 
kitchen  taking  a  drink  of  water.  William  came 
in  and  closed  the  door.  "Hara  you's  wicked! 
Miss  June's  delicat'  an'  'er  mother's  easy  opp- 
set.  You's  varigatin'  'bout  you'  cuzzun.  What 
you  reck'n  th'  Lord's  goin  to  do  wid  you?" 

Hara  edged  toward  the  door. 

"Hara,  you's  bound  to  pray  wid  me."  He  took 
the  astonished  Hara  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to 
a  chair.  He  knelt  down.  Hara  hesitated,  but 
the  grip  on  his  arm  was  tight.  He  finally  knelt. 
Hara  had  just  mopped  the  floor  in  an  impres- 
sionistic manner,  preparatory  to  leaving,  and  in 
his  haste  had  left  little  puddles  here  and  there. 
Into  one  of  these  the  knees  of  his  best  blacks  set- 
tled clammily. 

William  began.  "Oh  Lord,  break  up  th'  fol- 
ly groun'  in  Hara's  haht  to-day.  Po'  out  his 
gall  'pon  th'  ground  an'  whar  hit  fall  plant  seeds 
135 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

o'  trufe  an'  make  'em  spring  up  on  high  so  ez 
Hara'll  lose  his  se'f  in  th'  flowus  o'  trufe  an' 
nevah  tell  no  mo'  lies.  Hara  ain't  got  no  sick 
cuzzon — you  knows  he  ain't.  Make  'im  to  stay 
an'  take  care  o'  my  ladies.  William  knows  th' 
ole  one's  teejus  but  I  reck'n  you  made  'er  so  an' 
she  can't  help  it.  She  mean  right,  sh'  she  doos 
an — " 

Hara's  knees  were  thoroughly  soaked  by  this 
time  and  he  was  willing  to  concede  anything  if 
William  would  only  stop  praying.  "I  stay,"  he 
said  meekly. 

"Amen !     Praise  th'  Lord !"  cried  William. 

When  they  were  on  their  feet,  Hara  coughed 
to  make  William  think  he  had  taken  cold. 

William  produced  a  flask  from  his  hip  pock- 
et. Holding  it  out  to  Hara,  he  said,  "Take  a 
nip!" 

Hara  shook  his  head.  His  eyelids  seemed  to 
move  from  below  like  a  chicken's.  uNo,  I  Chris- 
tian." 

William  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  living 
room.  On  being  answered,  he  thrust  his  head 

136 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

in.    "He'll  stay!" 

"How  about  the  sick  cousin?"  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  asked. 

"Whales !  He  ain't  got  no  sick  cuzzun." — 
then  in  a  confidential  tone — "I  tell  you-all 
sump'n  bout  Hara.  I  don't  zactly  like  to  call 
'im  an  out'n  out'n  liar — hit  don't  soun'  jus' 
Christyun" — he  hesitated. — "but — Hara  doos 
remain  mostly  in  th'  subu'bs  o'  trufe." 

The  Major  called  to  go  home  with  his  wife. 
He  had  been  down  town  and  heard  the  latest 
news:  "They've  located  poor  Dodge",  he  said, 
"he's  sick  in  the  hospital  and  unconscious.  I 
went  around  there,  left  my  address,  and  told 
them  the  moment  Dodge  was  conscious  to  send 
for  me.  The  whole  business  is  diabolical,"  the 
Major  thundered. 


XVI 

THE  Major  persuaded  his  wife  to  post- 
pone her  sectarian  functions  in  or- 
der that  they  might  take  a  trip  up 
the  coast,  as  far  as  San  Francisco, 
while  the  country  was  looking  its  best.     June 
and  Mrs.  Winthrop  decided  to  go  as  well. 

The  Major,  however,  did  not  make  his  plans 

until  after  he  had  ascertained  the  exact  condition 

of  Dodge.     The  hospital  physician  told  him 

there  was  no  possibility  of  Dodge's  recovery  for 

138 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

weeks.  But  the  Major  took  the  precaution  of 
leaving  careful  instructions  just  where  to  wire 
him  in  the  North. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  want  to  explain  to  you 
ladies,"  the  Major  said  when  they  were  seated 
in  the  train — "I  am  told  that  in  San  Francisco 
you  must  never  refer  to  the  earthquake,  but  al- 
ways to  the  fire." 

"It's  just  as  well  to  be  diplomatic.  There  are 
people  who  pull  down  hornets  nests  on  their 
heads  and  then  wonder  why  they  get  stung." 
The  Major's  glance  implicated  his  wife.  She 
ignored  his  accusing  look.  For  her  it  was  enough 
to  be  going  some  place. 

After  a  time  the  sea  came  into  view  on  one 
side  of  the  train  and  high  hills  rose  abruptly  on 
the  other. 

As  they  sped  along  June  experienced  a  sense 
of  relief,  like  a  frightened  bird  that  puts  dis- 
tance between  itself  and  the  thing  it  shuns. 

The  picture  without  grew  constantly  more 
beautiful.  Now  the  hills  were  gorgeous  with 
139 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

wild  flowers.  There  were  all  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow.  Fleecy  white  clouds  drifted  in  from  the 
horizon,  softened  the  color  of  the  sea  and  float- 
ed over  the  hilltops. 

"I  don't  believe  there's  another  ride  in  the 
world  equal  to  this,"  the  Major  said  enthusiast- 
ically. The  journey,  of  a  sudden,  suggested  an 
idea  to  him — "I  wonder  where  Oliver's  gone !" 
he  looked  at  the  Winthrops  across  the  aisle.  Ma- 
jor Knowles  had  never  taken  the  trouble  between 
June  and  Oliver  seriously.  Mrs.  Knowles 
pressed  the  Major's  foot  with  her  own,  but  he 
continued — "I  went  down  to  the  hotel  last  night 
to  see  if  he  would  look  after  Dodge  while  I'm 
away,  but  the  clerk  said  he'd  gone  off  on  a  little 
trip." 

June  got  up  abruptly  and  announced  that  she 
was  going  to  the  observation  car. 

"I  told  you !"  Mrs.  Knowles  whispered  in  the 
Major's  ear. 

"Told  me!  You  told  me  nothing —  You 
only  stepped  on  my  foot." 

It  had  long  been  dark  when  they  arrived  at 
140 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

San  Francisco.  As  they  drove  through  beauti- 
ful, brilliantly  lighted  streets  and  stopped  before 
a  magnificent  hotel,  Mrs.  Winthrop  fairly  caught 
her  breath —  "Why,  I  never  expected  anything 
like  this!" 

"You  thought  you  were  going  to  drive  over 
piles  of  debris  to  a  makeshift  hotel  didn't  you?" 
the  Major  said  as  he  assisted  the  ladies  out  of 
the  carriage. 

"Not  exactly — but  in  spite  of  all  that  I've 
read,  I  wasn't  prepared  for  what  I  see." 

Later,  the  Winthrops  stood  before  the  win- 
dow of  their  room,  looking  out  on  the  city  and 
the  bay  in  the  distance.  Myriads  of  electric  lights 
in  every  direction — including  the  illumination  on 
the  vessels  pierced  the  darkness  and  gave  the 
impression  of  an  inverted  star-lit  sky. 

"I've  always  heard,"  June  said  delighting  in 
the  picture,  "that  this  is  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful cities  in  the  world  by  night." 

The  Major  and  his  wife  tapped  on  the  Win- 
throp's  door  next  morning.     They  were  all  go- 
ing down  to  breakfast  together. 
141 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"I  hope  you  ladies  are  in  fine  spirit" — the  Ma- 
jor's tone  indicated  that  all  was  well  with  him. 
"First,  you  must  be  light  hearted  and  gay  when 
you  come  to  San  Francisco,  otherwise  you're  a 
blot  on  the  landscape;  next  you  must  dine — 
here,  there — everywhere." 

"No  doubt  all  of  the  famous  cafes  we  used  to 
hear  about  were  destroyed  in  the  earth — in  the 
fire" — June  corrected  herself. 

"I  can't  say,"  the  Major  was  interested,  "but 
we'll  find  out.  I  intend  to  give  you  ladies  the 
time  of  your  life  the  next  day  or  two." 

After  breakfast  they  made  a  tour  of  China- 
town. This  was  a  revelation.  No  more  squalid 
buildings  here !  The  "hell  breath"  wiped  them 
out.  In  their  place  were  fine,  modern  commer- 
cial blocks  with  the  dipped  roofs  of  pagan  tem- 
ples. And  such  bazaars !  One  might  travel  the 
world  over  without  seeing  any  half  so  wonder- 
ful. 

"Cities  are  like  people,"  the  Major  said  as 
they  walked  along.  "They  are  influenced  by 
heredity  and  environment  the  same  as  we  are. 
142 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

Take  this  city,  for  instance !  It  was  bred  in  ro- 
mance, courage  and  hardy  adventure,  with  the 
best  blood  of  many  nations.  And  look  at  its  en- 
chanting environment,"  he  indicated  the  sea  with 
a  sweep  of  his  arm.  "It  was  impossible  to  daunt 
it  even  by  a  great  calamity." 

Mrs.  Knowles  interrupted  her  husband's 
flight — "Major  Knowles  suppose  we  go  to  the 
theatre  tonight."  They  were  just  passing  one. 
"Barkis  is  willin'  ",  the  Major  replied,  "if  it 
suits  the  ladies."  He  turned  to  the  Winthrops. 

"How  jolly,"  was  June's  prompt  reply.  Mrs. 
Winthrop  nodded  and  smiled  assent. 

The  Major  went  in  to  purchase  tickets. 

"They're  all  re-built,"  he  said,  as  he  came 
out  beaming. 

"What's  rebuilt  Major  Knowles,"  there  was 
scorn  in  his  wife's  voice,  "I  believe  this  climate 
has  gone  to  your  head." 

"The  old  cafes,  Maria,  I  inquired  about  them 
at  the  box  office — we'll  go  to  the  Poodle  Dog 
after  the  theatre  tonight." 


143 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"Will  I  do?"  June  laughed  as  she  noticed 
the  Major  scrutinizing  her  costume,  when  they 
were  waiting  for  a  car,  later. 

"Do,"  the  Major  repeated- — "it's  heart  break- 
ing to  think  you  must  waste  a  lovely  frock  like 
that  on  an  old  codger  like  me —  But  who 
knows !  You  may  meet  your  Fate  to-night." 

They  were  a  little  late  in  arriving  at  the  thea- 
tre. The  curtain  was  just  going  up  when  they 
were  shown  their  seats  in  the  center  of  the  house. 
A  brilliant  audience  awaited  in  breathless  calm 
the  appearance  of  a  notable  actress. 

Not  until  the  end  of  the  first  act  did  June  have 
an  opportunity  to  take  cognizance  of  anything 
about  her.  As  the  lights  came  on,  she  glanced 
toward  the  boxes  on  her  right.  Involuntarily 
she  grasped  the  arm  of  the  Major,  who  sat  be- 
side her,  as  if  she  felt  herself  falling  into  bot- 
tomless space.  He  looked  up,  startled,  under 
the  impression  that  June  was  ill.  But  instantly, 
before  he  had  time  to  speak,  he  too  caught  sight 
of  George  Oliver  in  one  of  the  boxes.  He  was 
with  a  party  of  friends,  apparently.  There  were 
144 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

two  other  men  and  three  young  women  in  the 
box.  The  girl  who  sat  beside  Oliver  was  very 
beautiful.  She  was  fashionably  gowned  and 
wore  handsome  jewels. 

Though  the  Major  was  an  able  tactician, 
June's  whole  attitude  discomfited  him.  He 
cleared  his  throat  the  second  time  and  finally 
said  indifferently,  "Why  there's  Oliver!" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  nervously  toward  her 
daughter.  Mrs.  Knowles  craned  her  neck  in 
the  direction  the  Major  was  looking. 

June  quickly  recovered  her  self-possession,  at 
least  outwardly.  Her  thoughts  went  back  to 
Franklin  Dodge  in  the  hospital.  She  was  filled 
with  rage  against  Oliver — to  think  he,  the  guilt- 
ier one,  should  have  run  away  and  left  a  sick 
man  in  such  a  plight.  She  watched  him  fur- 
tively between  acts.  He  devoted  himself  assid- 
uously to  the  beautiful  girl.  Oliver,  himself,  had 
never  looked  handsomer.  And  whenever  he 
spoke  June  thought  she  detected  a  fine  shade  of 
sympathy  in  the  girl's  face.  For  the  hundredth 
time  June  told  herself  that  she  hated  George 
145 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Oliver,  and  for  the  hundredth  time  she  knew 
that  it  was  not  true.  Since  she  first  met  him,  she 
had  almost  run  the  gamut  of  emotions,  but  jeal- 
ousy was  new  to  her. 

The  curtain  fell.  The  Major  hurried  them 
along. 

"Now  for  the  Poodle  Dog!"  he  said,  when 
they  were  outside. 

"Are  we  really  going  there?"  June  asked  with 
lagging  interest. 

"To  be  sure,"  the  Major  signalled  a  car. 

"How  this  reminds  me  of  dear  old  Paris," 
Mrs.  Knowles  remarked  with  an  air  of  satisfac- 
tion, as  they  entered  the  cafe. 

"And  dear  old  San  Francisco!"  the  Major 
supplemented. 

It  was  a  gay  French  place  with  white  paint, 
paneled  walls,  and  innumerable  lights.  On  a 
high  balcony  at  one  end  were  the  musicians.  A 
man's  strong  tenor  voice  rose  above  a  staccato 
accompaniment  and  filled  the  room.  Only  two 
tables  were  left,  quite  close  together  in  a  corner. 
They  took  the  most  desirable  one — where  the 
146 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

musicians  could  be  seen. 

The  Major  had  just  given  the  order  when 
Oliver,  and  his  friends  appeared.  He  no  doubt, 
saw  the  Major's  party  for  the  first  time.  His 
embarrassment  was  apparent.  But  there  was  no 
alternative.  He  was  obliged  to  take  the  remain- 
ing table. 

The  Major  and  Mrs.  Knowles  nodded.  Oli- 
ver returned  their  nod.  When  he  sat  down  June 
could  not  see  his  face,  but  she  could  see  the  face 
of  the  beautiful  girl.  A  pink  flush  diffused  her 
cheeks  from  time  to  time.  And  June  felt  certain 
Oliver  must  be  paying  her  very  pretty  compli- 
ments. "If  she  only  knew  to  what  kind  of  a 
man  she  is  listening,"  was  June's  patronizing 
mental  observation. 

June  was  gay.  She  told  her  best  stories,  list- 
ened appreciatively  to  the  Major's,  tactfully  cov- 
ered up  one  or  two  of  Mrs.  Knowles'  loquacious 
blunders,  and  adroitly  drew  her  mother  into  the 
talk. 

Evidently  Oliver  made  some  excuse  to  his 
friends,  for  after  a  short  time  he  left  with  them. 
H7 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 


As  he  went  out,  he  looked  at  June — their  eyes 
met.  It  was  all  in  a  lightning  flash.  But  June 
could  not  hold  out  against  his  glance.  She  knew 
then  and  there  that  she  would  follow  George 
Oliver  to  the  end  of  the  world,  if  given  the 
chance. 


I48 


XVII 

WHEN  June  and  Mrs.  Winthrop  ar- 
rived at  home  they  found  Will- 
iam greatly  stirred  up  over  some- 
thing. 

"I  sho's  glad  to  see  the  blue  hen's  chick'n  an' 
'er  lovely  mother.    Ef  you-all  hadn't  come  home 
tereckly  I'd  'a'  had  a  stroke  o'  consternation." 
"What's  the  trouble?'  asked  June. 
"Trubbul!"     William  repeated,  "that  Jap's 
bin  so  'portant  thar  wuz  no  livin'  wid  'im.    I  got 
149 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

th'  rabbit-foot  on  Mm  tho',  when  I  tole  'im  ef  he 
didn't  stop  bein'  so  bossy  I'd  jus'  go  way  an' 
leave  'im  all  'lone  in  his  kitchen  lane.  I's  bin  a 
genterman  to  Hara  but  he's  jus'  like  a  termater 
vine — he  can't  stand  bein'  pomper'd.  Ef  you 
treats  termaters  fine  they  won't  do  nothin',  but 
tromp  on  'em  an'  don't  water  em  an'  the'll  give 
you  fine  fruit.  Shof" 

"I  am  sure  everything  will  go  better  now  that 
we  are  here,"  Mrs.  Winthrop  reassured  Will- 
iam. 

"I  tole  Hara,  you-all  wouldn't  have  no  monk- 
ey biz-ness.  He's  got  my  mind  so  monkey'd  up 
I  jus'  dunno  what  t'  do.  Ef  he  keep  on  a-bein' 
so  wicked,  he's  goin'  to  git  his  name  in  th'  noos- 
papah — all  wicked  folks  doos  in  th'  end.  Hit 
knocks  th'  cover  off'n  their  sins  an'  shows  'em  in 
a  clair  light." 

Hara  came  into  the  living  room  where  they 
were  talking  with  a  tray  of  coffee  and  toast — it 
was  yet  early  morning.  He  purposely  ran 
into  William.  Carelessly  William  remarked, 
looking  in  the  opposite  direction — "Folks  as  is 
150 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

slough-footed  needs  a  wide  path." 

"I  reck'n  you  don't  feel  like  workin'  this 
mawnin',  doos  you  Miss  June?"  William  start- 
ed for  the  garden. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  there  William,  as  soon  as  I  finish 
my  toast." 

"You  kin  weed  th'  poppy  bed,"  William  said 
importantly,  when  June  came  out.  He  looked 
at  her  quizzically,  as  he  remarked  innocently 
— "I  ain't  seen  nothin'  o'  th'  young  man  roun' 
town  sence  you-all  bin  'way." 

"What  young  man  are  you  talking  about, 
William?" 

"Why  our  young  man — You'  young  man — " 

June  spoke  sharply — "William  I  told  you 
never  to  mention  his  name  again." 

"I  ain't  mention  no  names  Miss  June — Sho  I 
ain't !  These  mawnin's  crisps  folks  up !"  Will- 
iam laughed.  "Hits  a  good  sign  though  accor- 
dean  to  my  thinkin' —  Folks  ez  don't  git  crisp 
onct  in  a  while  in  this  worl'  is  liabul  to  be  an- 
gels too  soon  in  th'  next.  'Taint  human  natcher 
to  have  a  pummammt  disposishun." 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

June  was  working  diligently. 

"You'd  jus'  bettah  be  careful,  Miss  June, 
them's  young  poppies  you's  pickin'  out'n  place 
o'  weeds." 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  a  little  tired  after  my  trip," 
June  admitted,  as  she  looked  at  the  uprooted 
poppies  in  dismay. 

"You's  honest,  Miss  June.  I  kin  0//ways  jedge 
folks  feelin's  by  their  ambishuns.  You  kin  no 
mo'  do  good  wuk  when  you  don't  feel  well  'an 
you  kin  put  this  sunshine  in  you'  pocket.  You 
wuz  right  to  tell  William  place  o'  pertendin'  you 
want  to  stay — an  tearin'  blankets." 

"Tearing  blankets?" 

"Ain't  you  nevar  heah  'bout  tearin'  blankets?" 

June  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  onct  thar  wore  an  old  cullud  man 
down  south  as  lived  all  by  hese'f.  He  wore  a 
a  turribul  cowahd — an'  one  night  aftah  he'd 
went  t'  bed  long  comes  a  frien'  to  visit.  He 
ain't  see  no  light  so  he  opens  th'  do' — the  latch 
wore  busted — and  he  calls  out — 'Anybody  t' 
home  ?'  My  Lord !  that  old  man  wore  so  skeer'd 
152 


'It's  a  good  story,   William 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

he  nevah  did  suspishun  a  frien'.  He  didn'  dare 
answer  nothin'  nowhow  but  he  jus'  takes  a  blank- 
et an'  tears  hit  to  let  on  he's  thar  an'  ain't 
skeer'd,  but  he  wore.  So  down  south  folks  says 
you's  tearin'  blankets  when  you's  pertendin' — 
Hit's  a  little" — William  stammered — "like  tell- 
in'  a  lie." 

June  laughed.  "It's  a  good  story,  William." 
She  had  stopped  weeding  and  sat  on  the  grass 
under  a  palm. 

"Sho'  hits  a  good  story;" — William  sighed 
— many's  the  time  my  wife's  said  to  me — "You 
ain't  tearin'  blankets  is  you  ?" 

"I's  had  a  mighty  sad  'sperience,  Miss  June, 
an'  I  hopes  when  you  marries  you'll  find  some 
one  ez  is  becomin'  to  you'  disposishum.  I  loved 
my  wife,  but  her  and  me  t'gether  wore  jus'  like 
combinin'  these  red  geranyums  an'  that  megen- 
tah  collud  vine  thar !  We  jus'  couldn'  match  up 
nohow!  I  wuz  fear'd  o'  trubbul  when  I  mar- 
ried 'er  cause  she'd  a  bin  livin'  in  Injanneh.  Hits 
mo'  safeter  t'  marry  folks  ez  comes  frum 
Georgy.  Injanneh  folks  sho  has  got  quare  no- 
153 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

tions."  William  was  down  on  his  hands  and 
knees  weeding.  He  stood  up  and  looked  down 
at  his  dirt-stained  clothes.  "Whales!  I  looks 
ez  ef  I'd  a  come  frum  Injanneh  myself!" 

William  did  not  notice  the  crimson  flush  on 
June's  face  as  she  said:  "Very  smart  people 
come  from  Indiana,  William." 

"Whales,  they's  smaht  all  right — they's  too 
smaht!  They's  dam  yankees!" 

"William,  I'm  shocked,"  June  tried  to  look 
so  but  her  eyes  danced  with  merriment. 

"Oh,  my  Lord !  forgives  me,  forgives  me — til 
I  washes  my  mouf  out."  William  hurried  to- 
ward a  hydrant  as  fast  as  his  clumsy  shoes  would 
let  him,  and  putting  his  head  under  the  faucet, 
turned  the  water  into  his  mouth  full  force.  Ap- 
pearances indicated  that  he  would  have  drowned 
had  not  June  come  to  the  rescue. 

"William — William" — she  called  between  fits 
of  laughter — "stop — you'll  strangle  yourself." 

William  got  up  and  wiped  the  water  from  his 
face  with  his  coat  sleeve.  "I  reck'n  I  ain't  bin 
so  wet  sence  I  wore  baptized,"  he  said,  catching 
154 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

his  breath.  "Hit  weren't  propah  to  swar  in  you' 
presence,  Miss  June,  and  I's  goin'  to  let  my 
tongue  rust  'n  my  head  'fore  I  evah  do  hit  no 
mo'." 

"I'll  forgive  you  William,"  June  was  still 
laughing,  "but  I'm  going  in  now." 

She  found  the  evening  paper,  of  the  day  be- 
fore, and  dropped  down  on  the  couch  to  rest. 
She  glanced  over  the  contents  casually.  An  item 
arrested  her  attention: 

"Mr.  George  Oliver,  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar guests  of  Hotel  • returned  from  the 

North  today.  He  was  highly  indignant  when 
he  learned  of  the  apprehension  of  Franklin 
Dodge  for  the  recent  burglary.  Mr.  Oliver  says 
that  he  is  well  acquainted  with  Franklin 
Dodge,  in  fact,  he  defends  him  as  a  friend." 


XVIII 

IT  was  Sunday  morning.  The  days  had  mul- 
tiplied into  a  fortnight  since  June  had 
returned  her  letter  to  Jack. 

Mrs.  Knowles  called  with  a  carriage 
to  take  the  Winthrops  to  church.  They  were  a 
little  early  in  starting  and  she  directed  the  driver 
to  stop  at  the  post  office. 

June  went  in  for  the  mail.     There  was  noth- 
ing except  a  letter  for  herself,  and  that  was — 
from  Jack!     She  did  not  want  her  mother  to 
156 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

know  of  it.  So  great  was  her  excitement,  she 
came  near  tearing  the  letter  into  bits,  just  to  keep 
it  from  being  seen.  Quickly  slipping  it  into  her 
blouse,  she  returned  to  the  carriage.  "No  mail 
for  you,  Mrs.  Knowles,"  she  said.  She  felt  guilty 
enough  not  to  mention  her  own  letter. 

"It  is  strange  we  don't  hear  anything  from 
Jack!"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop,  as  they  drove  off. 
"I  do  hope  he  isn't  ill!" 

"I  hope  not."  The  color  mounted  to  June's 
cheeks. 

"This  is  a  very  pious  town,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
said — People  were  whizzing  past  in  autos  and 
fine  carriages,  to  say  nothing  of  scores  of  pedes- 
trians—  "Now,  my  dears,  even  on  this  lovely 
day,  I  venture  to  say  every  one  of  these  people 
are  going  to  church ! —  They  do  dress  a  good 
deal,"  she  added,  as  if  in  reply  to  a  possible  crit- 
icism from  Mrs.  Winthrop,  "but  it  isn't  as 
though  they  couldn't  afford  it." 

"I  never  have  approved  of  opera  clothes  for 
church,"  Mrs.  Winthrop  spoke  with  feeling. 

June  took  no  part  in  the  conversation.  She 
157 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

was  trying  to  think  of  a  way  by  which  she  could 
manage  to  read  Jack's  letter. 

The  Fates  were  kind.  In  this  particular 
church  many  of  the  women  removed  their  hats 
during  the  service.  June  wore  a  creation  of  lace 
and  pink  roses.  As  she  was  taking  it  off,  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  this  was  her  opportunity.  The 
long  prayer  began.  June  quietly  slipped  Jack's 
letter  out  from  her  blouse  and  transferred  it  to 
the  crown  of  her  hat.  She  pulled  out  a  hat  pin, 
and  with  eyes  cast  demurely  down,  cut  the 
end  of  the  envelope.  It  was  a  big,  blue  one. 
The  color  showed  through  the  lace  crown  of 
her  hat.  "Jack  would  have  done  me  a  kind- 
ness," she  thought,  "if  he  had  used  a  white  en- 
velope." 

Cautiously  she  drew  out  the  letter.  The 
church  was  still,  but  for  the  preacher's  voice. 
The  paper  rattled.  June  waited  a  moment.  A 
glance  at  her  mother  showed  that  she  was  at- 
tending strictly  to  her  devotions.  Mrs.  Knowles 
looked  June's  way  and  thought,  "I  didn't  re- 
member that  the  crown  of  June's  hat  was  lined 
158 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

with  blue" — then  she  dropped  her  eyes  again. 

At  last  June  succeeded  in  unfolding  and 
spreading  out  the  letter.  Fortunately  Jack  wrote 
a  large,  clear  hand.  June's  heart  beat  like  a 
trip-hammer —  Probably  Jack  would  advise  her 
to  go  to  the  authorities,  and  make  a  clean  breast 
of  the  whole  affair —  Then  she  would  have  to 
go  to  court  and  testify — and  her  picture  would 
be  in  the  papers !  Her  hands  trembled  so,  she 
could  scarcely  hold  the  letter.  She  began  to 
read: 

with  everybody  out  there?  You  are  right  and 
"Dearest  Sis :  I  have  just  returned  from  a  hur- 
ried business  trip  to  the  South.  I  found  your 
letter  waiting,  inclosing  the  one  misdirected  to 
Boston.  In  Heaven's  name !  what's  the  matter 
wrong  about  George  Oliver.  He  was  in  my 
class  and  did  frequently  write  me  during  my 
long  illness"— 

"Dear  me!" — June  listened — "he's  got  down 
to  the  President  in  his  prayer !     I  must  hurry  or 
he'll  be  saying  'Amen' !" 
159 


, 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"I  knew  that  he  was  going  to  California.  In 
fact  he  was  in  the  city  shortly  before  he  left,  as 
he  told  you,  but  his  plan  then  was  to  go  to  San- 
ta Barbara.  Sister  darlint!  George  Oliver  is 
trying  his  wings  as  a  playwright.  Because  so 
many  Western  plays  have  succeeded,  he  went  out 
to  California  for  'local  color.'  The  conversa- 
tion between  the  two  men  in  the  garden — which 
you  give  in  your  letter — coincides  pretty  well 
with  a  rough  sketch  Oliver  outlined  for  me  be- 
fore he  left.  Now  Dodge,  also  of  our  class,  I 
knew  was  in  Pasadena ;  but  I  said  nothing  about 
him  to  mother  and  you,  because  he  is  sick  and  so 
down  on  his  luck.  I  thought  it  would  only  em- 
barrass him  to  meet  my  family.  His  health  went 
back  on  him  the  year  he  graduated,  and  he  im- 
mediately started  West.  The  doctors  said  he  had 
to  be  out  of  doors.  He  was  all  out  of  money 
and  he  wrote  me  he'd  got  a  public  carriage  to 
drive.  I'm  mighty  sorry  you've  made  such  a 
poor  beginning,  but  it's  all  over  now !  So  don't 
worry,  and  get  well,  dear  Sis,  even  if  you  die  in 
the  attempt —  The  burglary — of  course,  that 
1 60 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

was  only  a  coincidence —  All  well-regulated  ho- 
tels visited  by  rich  tourists  have  them.  Am  send- 
ing a  letter  on  to  Oliver  by  the  same  mail  as 
yours,  asking  him  to  go  and  see  you.  I  hope 
the  Saints  will  forgive  me  for  the  tale  I've  told 
him,  in  order  to  excuse  your  conduct.  Oliver 
is  a  fascinating  chap.  So  hold  on  to  your  heart- 
strings, Sis  dear!  Love  to  mother. 
"Your  own 

"JACK." 

The  prayer  was  ended  and  so  was  the  letter. 
During  the  singing  of  the  hymn,  June  returned 
the  letter  to  her  blouse. 

Very  little  she  had  heard  of  the  prayer  or  the 
hymn.  But  in  her  heart  she  gave  thanks  and 
sang  a  song  of  rejoicing.  Jack's  letter  was  too 
good  to  be  true !  To  think  that  after  all  she  had 
not  given  her  love  to  one  unworthy.  She  almost 
laughed  out  in  sheer  delight.  Her  face  was 
overflowing  with  happiness.  Mrs.  Winthrop  saw 
the  change — to  her  it  was  unaccountable. 

When  they  were  at  home  June  put  her  arms 
161 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

about  her  mother's  neck —  "Mother,  I  did  get 
a  letter  from  Jack  this  morning."  She  then  told 
her  everything. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  was  momentarily  silent.  She 
was  appalled  when  she  realized  what  had  been 
in  June's  mind  for  so  many  days.  The  thought 
that  gave  her  some  comfort  she  expressed  aloud, 
with  an  inflection  of  relief, —  "But  it's  all  over 
now" — exactly  Jack's  words.  Mrs.  Winthrop 
was  seldom  demonstrative,  but  she  kissed  her 
daughter  tenderly.  "The  only  thing  you  have 
to  do  from  now  on  is  to  get  well,"  she  said. 

Bliss  has  never  for  long  remained  unalloyed 
since  the  world  began.  And  when  June  walked 
in  the  garden  that  afternoon,  a  little  green  mon- 
ster took  sudden  possession  of  her.  It  came  in 
the  guise  of  a  vision —  A  vision  of  the  beautiful 
girl  who  had  sat  beside  George  Oliver  in  his  box 
at  the  theatre. 

For  the  first  time  June  failed  to  find  sympathy 
among  the  flowers.    They  did  not  respond  to  her 
mood.     "It  is  because  they  know  naught  of  fear 
and  jealousy,"  she  thought. 
162 


XIX 

JUNE  was  lying  in  a  hammock  with  a  book 
in  her  hand.    She  did  not  turn  the  leaves 
for  she  was  watching  a  bird  just  above 
her  head,  that  was  balancing  itself  on 
the  long,  swinging  leaf  of  a  palm. 

A  pretty  picture  she  made  out  there  under  the 
trees.  Her  white  linen  frock  was  set  off  by  the 
red  hammock.  The  sunbeams  played  hide-and- 
go-seek  in  her  hair.  The  birds  fluttered  to  and 
fro,  in  the  top  of  the  tree. 
163 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

June  was  in  a  state  of  perturbation.  That 
morning  a  note  had  come  from  Mr.  Oliver  ask- 
ing if  he  might  call — though  he  neglected  to 
state  the  time  when  he  wished  to  do  so.  And 
June  had  sent  a  formal  but  favorable  reply. 
What  should  she  say  when  Mr.  Oliver  pre- 
sented himself  I- —  He  might  come  that  very  af- 
ternoon. If  she  only  knew  what  Jack  had  said 
to  him  in  his  letter,  it  would  be  easier. 

William  appeared.  His  rake  and  shovel  made 
a  clatter  as  he  walked. 

June  sat  up  in  the  hammock.  "William 
you've  frightened  my  bird  away!" 

"My  Lord !  Miss  June,  ef  I  wait  ev'ry  day 
for  th'  birds  in  this  gardin  to  git  thro  a-ballun- 
sin  theirse'fs  'fore  I  went  to  wuk,  hit  'ud  be  a 
mighty  po'  lookin'  gardin  I  reck'n !"  He  spied 
June's  book.  "Don't  you  know  what's  goin'  to 
happun  to  you,  Miss  June,  ef  you  don't  stop 
you'  readin'  all  th'  time?" 

"No,  William,  I  don't." 

"Well,  I  tells  you.  Ef  you  uses  you'  head  so 
much  th'  gray  mattah'll  come  thro'  an'  tun  you' 
164 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

hair." 

"Does  the  gray  matter  of  your  brain  ever  get 
into  your  hair,  William?"  June  involuntarily 
put  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"Hit  sho'ly  do,  Miss  June,  an'  ef  you'  hair 
tun  gray,  th'  young  men  won't  like  you,  sho'  they 
won't !"  William  spoke  with  the  utmost  serious- 
ness. 

"That  would  be  unfortunate !"  June  laughed. 

"Sho'  hit  would !  My  Lord !  don't  you  git  to 
be  one  o'  these  batchelin  maidens! — they  keeps 
you'  feelin'  muss'd  up  all  th'  time  a-bein'  sorry 
for  'em,  'taint  human  natcher  to  live  'lone."  He 
pulled  up  a  plant  by  raking  too  emphatically. 

Just  then  Hara — sleek-haired  and  white- 
aproned — slid  into  the  garden.  He  presented  to 
June  a  card  on  a  tray.  June  looked  at  the  name 
— "Mr.  George  Oliver"  then  down  at  her  shoes 
— they  didn't  match  her  gown !  "Hara,  where's 
mother?" 

"She  go  out." 

June  ran  off  to  her  room  to  change  her  shoes. 
Her  heart  fairly  stood  still  when  she  thought  of 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

seeing  Oliver. 

William  smiled  as  he  looked  after  her.  "I 
reck'n  th'  young  man's  tuk'n  my  eggvise  an' 
tried  th'  front  do' —  Whales!  he's  bin  long 
time  'bout  it!" 

June  found  a  note  pinned  on  the  door  of  her 
room. 

"Lady.  Please  don't  open  window  on  this 
side  every  day  because  when  open  window  many 
flies  and  the  bugs  come  to  your  room.  It  is  bad 
for  you  not  only  so.  I  must  pack  up  cause  time 
too  much. 

"Write  by  Hara." 

Hara  studied  English  diligently — this  was  the 
result.  Evidently  to  him  "pack  up"  was  synony- 
mous with  "good-bye."  June  tucked  the  note  in 
her  belt  much  amused. 

The  events  of  the  past  weeks  were  crowding 

through  June's  mind  in  rapid  succession.   When 

her  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the  living  room 

door,  she  hesitated.    Then  with  great  force  the 

166 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

thought  rushed  upon  her  that  if  she  did  not 
open  the  door  instantly  and  face  George  Oliver, 
she  would  never  have  the  courage  to  do  so.  The 
consequence  was  she  appeared  so  suddenly  in 
the  room  as  to  give  Oliver  the  impression  that 
she  was  blown  in  by  a  chance  gust  of  wind. 

"I'm — glad  to  see  you,"  June  put  out  her 
hand,  nervously. 

"The  only  reason  I  can  really  believe  it,  is  be- 
cause you  say  so,"  Oliver's  smile  was  magical. 
"And  do  I  find  your  mother  at  home,"  he  asked 
with  measured  dignity.  "Your  boy  made  no  re- 
ply when  I  asked  for  'the  ladies'." 

June  explained  that  her  mother  was  away. 
And  the  talk  continued  along  conventional  lines. 
June  was  self-conscious,  and  even  Oliver  was  ob- 
viously ill  at  ease. 

Presently  he  said —  "There's  been  great  ex- 
citement in  the  hotel  today.  They  caught  the 
men  last  night  in  Los  Angeles  who  committed 
the  robbery — nearly  all  of  the  Mansfield  jewelry 
was  recovered." 

June  flushed,  but  she  saw  by  Oliver's  manner 
167 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

that  whatever  else  Jack  had  told  Oliver  he  had 
not  told  him  the  burglar  story.  "How  is — Mr. 
Dodge,"  June  ventured,  uncertain  of  her 
ground. 

"No  better,  poor  fellow,  all  that  I'm  praying 
for  is  that  he  will  get  well  and  never  know  any 
one  was  mean  enough  to  insinuate  that  he  could 
have  taken  the  jewelry." 

June  winced. 

"Didn't  Jack  ever  tell  you  anything  about 
Franklin  Dodge?"  Oliver's  face  was  troubled. 

June  shook  her  head  in  several  different  di- 
rections—  "I — don't  seem-1 — to  remember." 

"It  was  this  way,"  Oliver  explained — "I  knew 
Dodge  at  college,  we  were  good  friends,  but 
when  I  came  out  here. — after  he  had  lost  his 
health  and  his  money — he  would  never  come 
into  the  hotel  to  see  me.  So  we  frequently  vis- 
ited in  the  garden,  evenings.  I  often  consulted 
him  about — matters — important  to  me.  Never 
in  my  life,"  Oliver  pitched  his  voice  higher, 
"have  I  felt  as  I  did  when  I  came  home  from 
the  North  and  found  how  things  stood  with 
168 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

Dodge." 

June  fidgeted  and  took  another  chair. 

Oliver  dropped  his  voice  to  a  more  confiden- 
tial tone —  "My  brother's  fiancee  and  a  party 
of  friends  who  have  been  travelling  around  the 
world,  were  to  spend  a  few  days  in  San  Francis- 
co, and  I  ran  up  to  show  them  the  sights." 

"Oh!"  the  exclamation  came  forth  without 
June's  intending  it!  "She's  a  very  beautiful 
girl". — this  confusedly — "and  blushes  prettily." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  saw  her!  her  cheeks  were  like 
red  roses  whenever  I  mentioned  my  brother,  but 
I  didn't  know  that  it  was  evident  at  a  distance;" 
Oliver  laughed. 

June  looked  up  at  the  clock  as  it  warned  four. 

"Were  you  going  out?"  asked  Oliver. 

"Not  until  later.  I  promised  Mrs.  Knowles 
to  go  to  the  greenhouse  and  order  her  some  flow- 
ers." 

"Good,  I'll  take  you  now,  if  I  may;  the  ma- 
chine is  outside." 

June  went  to  get  her  hat  and  gloves.  She  was 
so  excited  she  jabbed  the  hat  pins  into  her  head 
169 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

and  tried  to  put  both  gloves  on  one  hand. 

"Where  first,  Mr.  Oliver,"  the  chauffeur 
asked. 

Oliver  looked  to  June  for  the  order. 

"I  have  to  go  to  the  Oak  Knoll  florists,"  she 
said,  "and  please  don't  let  me  forget,  Mr.  Oliver 
— five  dozen  carnations — as  many  pink  buds  as 
are  to  be  had — and  plenty  of  greenery." 

"Everything  pink,  eh?" 

"Yes,  you  know  Mrs.  Knowles  is  giving  a  se- 
ries of  sectarian  functions.  The  flowers,  I  sup- 
pose, are  meant  to  coincide  with  the  religious 
views.  Tomorrow  it's  Bridge — next  Five  Hun- 
dred'— and  then — a  tea." 

"Well,  that's  a  new  fad  to  me !" 

"And  to  me!  but  Mrs.  Knowles  collects 
fads." 

"Do  you  know  what  that  woman  reminds  me 
of?"  said  Oliver,  "a  very  good  looking  vase 
without  a  flower  in  it." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  /  shall  always  think  of  her?" 
said  June,  "as  some  one  with  whom  I  had  a 
listening  acquaintance." 

170 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"A  listening  acquaintance !  that's  good." 
They  had  reached  the  florists.     June  ran  in 
to  see  about  the  order. 

When  she  came  out,  Oliver  looked  at  his 
watch.  "Suppose  we  take  a  run  down  to  old 
San  Gabriel  and  see  the  Mission!" 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  take  too  long,"  June  ob- 
jected. 

"Oh,  no,  we  can  easily  make  it  in  an  hour." 
June  consented.    She  had  forgotten  that  there 
was  any  trouble  in  the  world.    And  Oliver  had 
regained  his  usual  easy,  self-confident  manner. 

San  Gabriel  is  a  queer  foreign  looking  little 
town  of  one  street  where  low  crumbling  adobe 
houses  leaned  heavily  upon  one  another.  In  the 
doorways  swarthy  specimens  of  humanity  were 
idly  standing — a  mixture  of  Spanish,  Mexican 
and  Indian  types.  The  loungers  on  the  low  ve- 
randas did  not  change  their  picturesquely  lazy 
attitudes  or  even  lift  their  eyes,  as  the  car  passed. 
Intruders  in  "red  devils"  came  so  often  now-a- 
days !  then  too,  it  was  some  trouble  to  look  up  1 
171 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

The  old  Mission  stands  at  the  end  of  the 
street.  It  seems  to  hold  itself  in  a  dignified  and 
aristocratic  aloofness  from  the  town.  Great 
pepper  trees  shade  its  ancient  front —  Im- 
mense cacti  spread  their  protecting  arms  over 
the  wall. 

"Take  the  machine  across  there  in  the  shade," 
Oliver  said  to  the  chauffeur,  "and  don't  leave 
it!" 

A  handsome  young  Spanish  boy  came  out  of 
the  Parish-house  to  unlock  the  church.  A  piece 
of  white  paper  was  tacked  on  the  door.  "Con- 
fessions daily  in  Spanish  and  English,"  June 
read  aloud.  Oliver,  at  her  side  looked — not  at 
the  paper — but  down  at  the  girl's  face. 

"We'll  just  look  around  by  ourselves,  if  you 
please."  Oliver  handed  the  guide  the  admit- 
tance fee,  with  the  addition  of  a  generous  tip. 
The  boy  looked  at  the  money  in  his  palm,  smiled 
his  thanks  and  disappeared. 

June  was  already  wandering  about  the  musty 
old  church.  "See  this  wonderful  old  altar!" 

"It's  more  effective  from  here,"  Oliver  sank 
172 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

down  on  a  low  bench.  "Come  and  look  at  it 
from  here." 

June  came,  but  with  evident  reluctance,  and 
sat  down  at  the  further  end  of  the  bench.  They 
were  both  perfectly  silent,  and  did  not  look  at 
each  other. 

Then  Oliver  slipped  along  the  bench  close  to 
the  girl's  side.  "June  dear,"  he  said,  "it's  time 
for  confessions.  Mine  cannot  wait  any  longer 
and  will  be  in  English — I  love  you  now  more 
than  I  ever  loved  you  in  my  life — promise  noth- 
ing shall  ever  come  between  us  again!" 

June  fumbled  the  leaves  of  an  old  prayer  book 
with  trembling  fingers — but  she  did  not  answer 
Oliver —  He  leaned  over,  and  took  her  hand. 
She  did  not  resist. 

"How  could  you  have  believed  that  dreadful 
tale  some  one  told  you  about  my  playing  you 
against  another  girl,  in  order  to  win  her?" 

The  prayer  book  fell  from  June's  lap  with  a 
thud  on  the  floor.  So  this  was  Jack's  excuse  for 
her  conduct ! 

"Some  time" — Oliver  went  on — "I  won't  ask 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

it  now — you'll  tell  me  who  told  you !" 

"If — if  only — you  would  never,  never  ask 
me !"  June  caught  her  breath  as  if  she  felt  her- 
self being  precipitated  into  deep  water. 

"I'll  agree  even  to  that,  darling  girl,  much  as 
I  wish  to  know,  if  you'll  promise  to  love  me." 

"I'll  promise — anything — if  you'll  never  ask 
— who  told  me" — June's  eyes  were  near  to 
tragedy. 

Oliver  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  away 
the  suspicion  of  tears —  "Promise  then,  that 
some  day — not  too  far  distant — you  will  go  up 
to  the  altar  with  me  and  let  me  declare  you  my 
wife  before  the  whole  world." 

"Are  you  very,  very  certain  that  you  love  me 
enough  for  that?"  June  raised  her  eyes. 

Oliver  looked  into  them  intently.  "My  answer 
is — May  I  ask  your  mother  for  you  tonight?" 

A  sunbeam  stole  in  and  touched  June's  face — 
it  was  as  beautiful  as  that  of  the  Madonna  above 
her — "Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Oliver,  but  you've  left  your 
hat  in  the  church,"  said  the  chauffeur  as  he  stop- 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

ped  the  car  before  the  church  door.    He  looked 
at  June's  flushed  cheeks  and  smiled  significantly. 


175 


XX 

WHEN  June  heard  the  chug — chug- 
ging of  Oliver's  machine  that 
evening,  she  ran  into  her  room 
and  fastened  the  door. 

That  was  the  belli —  That  was  Hara  flip- 
flapping  to  the  door  in  his  flat  shoes —  Now  he 
was  flip-flapping  back  again  to  find  her  mother 
—  There  was  the  murmur  of  voices —  Where 
were  they  sitting?  or  were  they  still  standing? — 
Oh  no,  of  course  they  couldn't  be  standing,  it 
176 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

was  such  a  long  time  since  George  came  in !  the 
clock  was  just  striking  when  he  rang  the  bell! 
She  looked  at  her  watch.  He  had  been  there 
just  four  minutes!  She  took  a  book  and  tried 
to  read.  She  went  over  to  her  desk  and  began 
a  letter  to  Jack  and  ended  by  upsetting  the  ink. 
She  sat  down  by  her  dressing  table  and  did  her 
hair  over.  She  pulled  a  pink  rose  out  of  the 
vase  and  tried  its  effect  in  different  places  in  her 
hair —  Wouldn't  they  ever  be  through  talk- 
ing. 

After  what  seemed  to  her  a  very  long  time  she 
boldly  unlocked  the  door,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"What  in  the  world  am  I  afraid  of!" 

She  tiptoed  across  the  patio  and  stood  where 
she  could  peep  through  the  French  doors  into 
the  living  room. 

Her  mother  was  standing.  George  was  sit- 
ting there,  looking  very  sober,  and  seemed  not 
to  notice  that  her  mother  had  risen.  He  sud- 
denly came  to  his  feet.  With  a  smile — 'twas 
a  pretty  sad  sort  of  a  smile — her  mother  gave 
Oliver  her  hand  and  left  the  room. 
177 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

June  quickly  slipped  through  the  door  to 
Oliver's  side,  questioning  him  with  her  eyes  as 
she  did  so. 

"Your  mother  makes  a  condition,  June  dear," 
he  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"Is  it  my  health,"  her  lip  trembled. 

"No,  not  your  health  sweetheart,"  he  drew 
their  chairs  before  the  open  fire.  "I  was  not  go- 
ing to  tell  you  about  a  play  I've  written  until  I 
knew  whether  it  would  succeed — I  should  not 
have  told  your  mother. — only  she  seemed  un- 
willing to  give  you  to  me — because — well —  She 
said  even  if  father  has  plenty  of  money,  she 
wants  to  be  certain  that  I  am  able  to  do  some- 
thing myself.  And  now  she  makes  her  consent 
conditional  on  the  acceptance  of  my  play." 

Oliver  was  a  melancholy  picture  as  he  sat 
there  looking  into  the  fire.  "If  it  doesn't  suc- 
ceed !"  He  took  the  poker  and  propped  a  glor- 
ious castle  of  coals  that  was  about  to  fall  into 
the  ashes. 

"It  will  succeed — if  not  now  another  time — 
I've  faith  enough  in  you  for  that,  love —  Is 
178 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

the  play  finished?" 

"Yes,  and  gone  to  New  York,  but  not 
named." 

"George,"  June  spoke  his  Christian  name  with 
some  embarrassment,  "let  me  name  your  play! 
Call  it— The  Blue  Hen's  Chicken!'  " 

"Where  on  earth  did  you  get  that  name?" 

"Why,  that's  what  William  calls  me."  Then 
she  told  him  William's  blue-hen-story. 

"That  settles  it!  The  Blue  Hen's  Chick- 
en' it  is!  I'll  send  the  name  on  to  New  York!" 

There's  one  question  I've  just  been  aching  to 
ask  you,  George  Oliver !  How  did  it  come  out 
after  the  jewels  were  stolen?  Did  you  put  the 
blame  on  Thompson?  wasn't  his  name  Thomp- 
son?" 

Oliver's  face  assumed  a  blank  expression,  as 
though  he  were  deaf  and  couldn't  make  out,  at 
first  what  June  said.  It  finally  dawned  on 
him. — 

"June  Winthrop,"  he  dropped  the  poker  and 
the  castle  fell — "are  you  a  mind  reader?  How 
on  earth  did  you  find  out  about  my  plot?  Did 
179 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

Dodge — why,  no,  of  course  he  didn't." 

"Oh,  you  don't  believe  then  in  'woman's  in- 
tuition'?" 

The  pink  rose  in  June's  hair  nodded  coquet- 
tishly.  "You  see,"  she  admitted,  "I  was  sit- 
ting"—  Then  she  told  him  what  she  heard 
him  say  to  Dodge  under  the  palm  tree. 

"You  witch!  I  wish  I  had  known  you  were 
there !  I'd  have  moved  round  to  the  other  side 
of  that  palm  pretty  quick !  But  great  heavens ! 
girl" —  it  had  never  occurred  to  Oliver  before 
— "if  some  one  who  never  knew  me  had  heard 
that  talk,  they  might  have  thought  /  stole  the 
Mansfield  jewelry." 

"Yes — they — might  have,"  June  fidgeted  un- 
easily. 

"Poor  Dodge !  they  suspected  him  just  be- 
cause some  one  saw  him  leaving  the  garden  that 
night.  What  did  you  think  Dodge  and  I  were 
talking  about?"  Oliver  was  holding  both  of 
June's  hands  and  looking  into  her  face. 

"I,"  she  laughed  out  merrily,  "why,  I  thought 
you  were  burglars!" 

180 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"No,  really,  what  did  you  think?" 
"Why  really,  I  thought  I  was  the  heroine  of 
a  cheap  melodrama,  and  that  the  villains  were 
close  at  hand,  and  there  was  no  possible  means 
of  escape." 

"Anyway,  it's  lucky  it  was  you,  girl  I" 
"Yes,  very  lucky,"  June's  conscience  smote 
her. 

The  grandfather's  clock  doled  out  the  hour. 
Oliver  rose  to  go.  "Please  say  'good  night'  to 
your  mother  for  me,  sweetheart"' — 

William  passed  along  the  court-yard  just  then. 
Through  the  French  doors,  he  saw  a  picture  that 
drew  forth  his  characteristic  exclamation — 
"Whales!"  he  said  under  his  breath,  "I  weren't 
'spectin'  it  quite  so  soon !" 


B 


XXI 

EST  wishes  to  you,  Miss  Junel" 
William  took  off  his  old  straw  hat 
with  a  sweep  as  he  saw  June  com- 
ing into  the  garden. 

"Don't  I  always  have  your  best  wishes?" 
"Sho!  but  this  's  a  most  pertick'ler  mawnin', 
ain't  it!" 

"Why,  William?" 

"I  don't  say  jus'  w'y — I  says,  ain't  it?"  He 
went  on  quickly.    His  voice  grew  tender.   "Did 
182 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

you  evah  see  th'  sun  so  bright  'fo'?  Did  th' 
flowus  evah  look  so  purty?  Did  the  birds  evah 
sing  so  sweet? —  'Sposin'  you  rake  heah,  Miss 
June,  while  I  spade  roun'  them  white  lilies —  We 
might  be  needin'  em  most  enny  day." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  William?" 
"What  I'm  talkin'  'bout?  Ain't  it  what  you's 
talkin'  'bout?"  William  held  his  head  on  one 
side  and  looked  at  June  in  his  quizzical  way. 
"To  be  honest,  Miss  June,  'twore  this  way.  Last 
night  jus'  fo'  I  wore  a-gittin  to  bed,  I  recomem- 
bers  that  I's  forgot  to  tun  off  th'  waters — 
'twouldn'  a  done  for  'em  to  be  a-runnin'  all  night 
on  that  rose  bed — thar  woren't  no  yuther  way 
— I  wore  'bliged  to  come  back  heah  to  see  'bout 
it.  While  I  wore  a-crossin'  th'  co't-yahd,  my 
'tention  wore  'tract'd  by  th'  'lective  lights  in  th' 
livin'  room — an'  when  I  looks  in  I  sees  th'  mos' 
butifulest  sight!  I  sho'  that  I'd  had  a  reveal- 
ashun !  Thar  wore  a  butifu'  young  lady  a-lookin' 
into  a  han'some  young  man's  eyes — an'  he  wore 
a-lookin'  in  'ers  an'  they  wore  a-holdin'  han's 


183 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"William,  it  wasn't  a  bit  nice  of  you  to  be 
looking  through  the  door  that  way!" 

"My  daddy!  th'  Lord's  give  me  eyes,  Miss 
June." 

June  said  nothing,  but  went  on  with  her 
work. 

"William  ain't  goin'  to  say  nothin'  to  nobody. 
I  sho'  doos  'gratch'late  you'  lovah — an'  I  reckn's 
you's  found  a  good  man — co'se  Mr.  Oliveh  do 
seem  young  but  I  reck'n  he'll  outgrow  hit." 
June  suppressed  a  smile.  "You  jus'  take  my 
eggvise,  Miss  June.  William  knows  mos'  men 
snaps  off  mighty  easy !  When  you  gits  married 
you  jus'  give  you'  man  th'  easy  bit.  When  you 
wants  'im  to  do  sump'n,  don't  you  juk  so  hard 
that  his  mouf'll  bleed!  You  jus'  swerve  'im — 
a  little  this  way — an'  a  little  that  way" — William 
held  out  his  arms  as  if  he  were  driving —  "En 
first  you  knows — you's  got  'im  trottin'  th'  gait 
you  wants.  Now  my  wife — I  ain't  a  bein'  dis- 
respectabul  to  th'  dead — she  wore  a  po'  driver ! 
• — she  didn'  nevah  let  you  forgit  you  wore  a  bein' 
drove."  William  began  spading  again.  "I 
184 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

hopes,  Miss  June,  you  won't  be  a-gettin'  married 
'fore  these  lilies  bloom!" 

"Why  William,  it  isn't  settled  yet?" 

"Ain't  settled  yitf" 

"I  mean  the  time." 

"My  Lord,  I  hopes  hit  ain't  goin'  to  be  one 
o'  these  long  'gagements — folks  gits  so  tired  of 
one  yuther  when  they  waits  so  longl" 

June  laughed.  "If  they  get  tired  when  they 
are  engaged,  how  will  it  be  when  they  are  mar- 
ried?" 

"Oh,  that's  diffrunt!  When  you's  onct  mar- 
ried you  ain't  'spected  to  be  a-smilin'  and  polite 
all  th'  time — but  when  you's  only  'gag'd — you's 
boun'  to  keep  up  a  sweet  mouf !'  He  bent  down 
and  carefully  scraped  the  dirt  from  his  shoes. 
"I  reck'n  'taint  no  'fairs  o'  William's — hit's 
mighty  'portant  tho'  'bout  th'  flowus!  What's 
to  prevent  a-settin'  th'  day?  I  kin  hole  th'  lilies 
back — er  I  kin  fo'se  em!" 

"Well  you  see" — June  was  not  quite  sure  that 
she  ought  to  confide  in  William — "Mr.  Oliver 
writes — and  mother  won't  consent  to  our  being 
185 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

married  until  he  has  made  a  success  of  it." 

William  set  his  spade  in  the  ground  and  sat 
on  the  handle.  "Ain't  that  quare  now !  I  knows 
some  mighty  fine  folks  ez  couldn'  scarsely  write 
their  names — an'  agin  I  knowed  a  man  down  in 
Georgy  ez  cud  write  fine  po'try — an'  my  Lord ! 
he  jus'  weren't  good  for  nothin'.  But  Misteh 
Oliveh  doos  seem  to  have  plenty  o'  money." 

"That's  his  father's  money." 

"Whales!  money's  money!  Ef  he  kin  have 
all  he  wants  to  use,  whats  th'  diffrunce?"  Will- 
iam was  ready  to  defend  Oliver's  cause  with 
spirit. 

"Whar's  Mr.  Oliveh  bin  livin',  Miss  June?" 

"Indiana,  William." 

"My  Lord! —  But  I  ain't  nevah  goin'  to 
mind  ef  he  doss  come  from  Injanneh  ef  you  jus' 
loves  'im.  Ennyways  you'se  so  sweet — you'll 
make  up  for  th'  short  sock." 

"The  what,  William?" 

"You  ain't  nevah  hear  'bout  th'  ole  woman 
ez  wore  knittin'  a  pair  o'  socks  an'  th'  first  one 
she  git  too  long  an'  then  she  make  the  yuther 
186 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

too  short  for  to  balluns  up.  'Cordin'  to  my  ob- 
swervashun  when  it  comes  to  marryin'  hits  jus* 
like  th'  socks — one  of  'em  has  to  make  up  for 
what  th'  yuther  ain't — Mister  Oliveh  doos  seem 
mighty  nice — co'se  I  don't  knows  'im  well,  but  I 
feels  I  doos,  cause  I's  allways  seen  his  fleckshun 
in  you'  eyes." 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  William's  own  eyes. 
"There's  one  thing  'bout  it,  Miss  June,  Writin' 
or  no  writin',  I'd  ruther  you'd  marry  Mister 
Oliveh  'an  some  ole  man.  I  reck'n  it's  the'  cli- 
mate out  heah — but  folks  ez  is  young  an'  soota- 
bul  to  one  yuther  nevah  seems  to  hitch  up !  My 
Lord,  ole  men  a  marryin'  young  girls — an'  vices 
an'  verses!"  William  tightened  up  his  suspend- 
ers and  laughed  quietly — "Money!  I  reck'n — 
But  th'  purtiest  rose  in  this  garden  didn't  nevah 
bloom  to  be  tempted  by  gold —  I  mean  you, 
Miss  June." 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not  exactly  a  rose,  William, 
but  you're  right  about  the  gold." 

"Ain't  you  a  'Merkin  Bewty'  rose,  Miss 
June?  Sho'  an'  you  might  be  a  Bride  rose  most 
187 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

enny  day.  Don't  you  worrits,  Miss  June;  Will- 
iam's goin'  to  pray  'at  the  blue  hen's  chick'n  gets 
'er  young  man — I  reck'n  maybe  he'll  do  some- 
thin'  'sides  pray." 


188 


,  ••..  -  -i., .  f 


XXII 


MRS.  WINTHROP  went  about  with 
a  preoccupied  air.       When  she 
withheld  her  consent  to  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  engagement, 
she  had  said  to  herself — "In  making  this  condi- 
tion, I  shall  try  the  young  man's  mettle."     Be- 
sides she  was  not  able  to  adapt  herself  so  quick- 
ly to  the  sudden  change  of  events. 

June  was  very  restless,  and  felt  a  strange  chok- 
ing in  her  throat,  when  she  tried  to  talk  with 
189 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

her  mother. 

Even  William  seemed  under  a  cloud,  as  he 
went  about  his  garden  work. 

The  morning  was  beautiful.  Oliver  had  tel- 
ephoned to  know  whether  June  and  her  mother 
would  go  for  a  spin.  Mrs.  Winthrop  begged  to 
be  excused,  because  of  household  duties,  but  June 
accepted  with  a  smiling  nod  at  the  telephone,  as 
if  it  had  been  Oliver  himself. 

William  waited  till  June  and  Oliver  were  out 
of  sight.  He  went  up  to  the  house  and  asked 
for  his  mistress.  "You  fine  her  in  big  room!" 
was  Hara's  answer. 

William  tapped  softly  at  the  living  room  door. 
Mrs.  Winthrop  opened  it.  William  bowed  very 
respectfully.  "I  asks  you'  pahdun,  Miss  Win- 
throp, but  William  has  most  'portant  mattahs  to 
speak  to  you  'bout — ef  you'd  jus'  step  into  th' 
co'tyahd  for  a  little  while." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  knew  that  William  had  been 
at  heavy  expense  at  the  time  of  his  wife's  sick- 
ness and  death.     Very  likely  he  had  gone  into 
debt  and  wanted  to  ask  for  a  little  help. 
190 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

When  she  was  seated  in  the  court-yard,  she 
said  kindly,  "Are  you  in  need  of  money,  Will- 
iam?" 

"Money !"  William  repeated,  as  if  he  were  not 
sure  he  had  heard  right.  "No,  Miss  Winthrop, 
'tworen't  'bout  money  William  wore  goin'  to 
speak.  I  cancers  all  my  debts  ev'ry  month — I 
reck'n  hit'll  take  some  time  to  'splain."  He 
shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  He  put  his 
hand  out  against  the  trunk  of  the  palm,  as  if  to 
brace  himself  for  the  work  of  love  he  had  un- 
dertaken. "I  hopes  you  ain't  goin'  to  think  Will- 
iam's interferin'  wid  you'  'fairs,  Miss  Winthrop. 
William  loves  you-all.  William  'ud  lay  down 
hislifeforyou-alll" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  intently  at  William. 
She  could  not  doubt  his  love  and  loyalty. 

"Hits  'bout  Miss  June,  William,  wants  to 
speak,  Miss  Winthrop." 

Mrs.  Winthrop's  face  took  on  a  new  look  of 

anxiety.     William  saw  it.     "Miss  June's  sho' 

improvin'  sence  she  came  heah — 'taint  'bout  'er 

health — hits  'bout  'er  happiness,  William  would 

191 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

speak — ef  she's  kep'  happy,  I  reck'n  she'll  git 
well." 

A  cloud  settled  over  Mrs.  Winthrop's  face. 
William  felt  that  it  promised  ill  for  him.  He 
said  to  himself  "I'll  jus'  cast  out  all  fear!  "I 
wuz  askin'  Miss  June,"  he  went  on,  "when  she 
'spected  to  step  off — I  wore  oncertain  whether 
I'd  bettah  fo'se  th'  lilies  or  jus'  let  'em  come  on 
natch'ral  for  th'  weddin'." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  gave  an  indignant  start. 

"An'  Miss  June" — William's  eye  followed  the 
sunshine  which  was  spattering  the  front  of  Mrs. 
Winthrop's  black  silk — "she  woren't  a-thinkin 
ez  she  wuz  talkin'  to  ole  William — she  tole  me 
that  'er  mother  had  'er  reesuns — an'  maybe  she 
wouldn't  git  married  ennyways  'tall.  She  seem 
dretfu'  'scourag'd  an'  down  haht'd!"  William 
dropped  his  eyes.  "  'Peard  to  me  like  Miss  June 
thot  ez  you  thot  ez  Mistah  Oliveh  didn't  have 
'nough  money." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  moved  her  lips  as  if  she  were 
going  to  speak,  but  she  still  kept  silent. 

"William  don't  mean  to  be  disrespectabul 
192 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

Miss  Winthrop —  But  you'  sho'  ain't  a-goin'  to 
let  money  stan'  in  th'  way  o'  happiness !  When 
you  gits  on  th'  Lord's  scales  to  be  weighed  for 
'ternity,  you  don't  want  to  be  thrown  out  'count 
o'  money  notions."  William  breathed  hard.  His 
hand  trembled,  where  it  rested  against  the  palm. 
William  don't  jus'  want  to  say  hit  out  an'  out, 
Miss  Winthrop,  but  you  sho'  is  gittin'  pinker 
an'  pinker  ev'ry  day." 

"Pinker!"  It  was  the  first  word  Mrs.  Win- 
throp had  spoken. 

"Hits  th'  trufe,  Miss  Winthrop!  You  sees 
them  white  roses  out'n  thar  thay  ain't  so  pow'- 
ful  ole ! — but  they's  sho'  on  th'  opposite  side  o' 
youth!  an'  they's  gittin'  pink  roun'  the  edges — 
an'  when  they  onct  gits  started  they  grows  pink- 
er'n  pinker,  'til  bime  by  they  jus' — won't  be  thar 
'tall!  Hit's  th'  Lord's  way — thar  ain't  nothin' 
in  this  worP  goin'  to  live  0//ways.  Some  day 
Miss  June's  a-goin'  to  be  left  'lone  in  this  big 
worl'.  Hit  ud  be  a  comfort  to  you  to  know 
that  a  good  man  wore  a  lookin'  aftah  you'  little 
chic'n?" 

193 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

William  stood  some  moments  with  his  head 
bowed.  He  walked  solemnly  out  of  the  court- 
yard and  closed  the  gate.  He  looked  back  as 
he  went  down  the  garden  path.  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  was  still  sitting  there,  looking  off  into 
space. 

Meantime  June  and  Oliver  for  whom  William 
had  bravely  spoken,  had  crossed  the  Arroyo.  On 
the  bridge  they  stopped  to  look  at  the  stream 
rushing  noisily  over  its  stony  bed. 

"It  isn't  an  Arroyo  Seco  now,  is  it?"  said 
June. 

They  climbed  the  heights  on  the  opposite  side. 
They  followed  the  country  road  on  through 
fields,  that  were  once  part  of  a  famous  ranch. 
The  wild  flowers  glowed  on  every  side. 

"Well,  here  we  are  at  another  church  1"  said 
Oliver. 

There  it  was  nestled  down  among  the  hills — 
A  little  English  country  church!  With  space 
about  it — grass  and  trees — God's  sunshine 
streaming  down  upon  it. 

They  left  their  car  and  as  they  passed  through 
194 


"Some  day  Miss  June's  a'goin'  to  be 
in  this  big  worl'." 


left  'lone 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

the  old-time  stile,  June  said,  "Listen,  they're 
reading  prayers!  It  must  be  some  special  ser- 
vice. Can't  we  step  in  very  quietly?" 

They  slipped  into  seats  at  the  back,  circum- 
spectly. June  joined  reverently  in  the  prayers. 
Oliver  however  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  let  his  eyes  rove  over  the  quaint  and  charm- 
ing interior. 

They  had  joined  the  worshippers  who  were 
quietly  leaving  the  portal.  Oliver  turned  to  a 
white-haired  old  man  at  his  elbow.  "What 
church  is  this,  Sir?" 

"This?  Oh,  this  is  the  Church  of  the  An- 
gels!" 

"A  strange  place  for  a  church,"  said  Oliver. 

"It's  a  memorial,"  the  white-haired  man  ex- 
plained, "erected  by  the  owner  of  this  ranch  to 
the  memory  of  his  mother  and  father." 

The  people  took  their  different  ways  home- 
ward over  the  hills. 

"What  a  romantic  place,"  June  looked  back 
at  the  pretty  church,  as  they  drove  away. 

"Yes — and  just  the  place  for  a  wedding,  darl- 
195 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

ing  girl.  I'm  afraid  the  church  will  have  fallen 
into  decay  before  my  play  is  accepted,"  Oliver 
sighed.  "I  had  another  talk  with  your  mother 
yesterday — while  you  were  away — and  begged 
her  to  let  us  be  married  at  Easter. — but  no,  dear, 
I  couldn't  convert  her  to  our  way  of  think- 
ing." 

"The  Winthrops  never  change  their  minds — 
that  is,  I've  never  known  mother  to." 

"You  think,  then,  there's  no  hope  of  our  be- 
ing married  soon  unless  the  play  succeeds?" 

"Just  one — dear  old  William  promised  to 
pray  for  us." 


XXIII 

WILLIAM'S  words  of  warning  had 
their  effect  upon  Mrs.  Winthrop. 
As  the  days  went  by  they  gained 
force.     "Some  day  Miss  June's 
a-goin'  to  be  left  'lone,  in  this  big  worl'"  ob- 
sessed her. 

It  was  now  a  little  more  than  a  fortnight  be- 
fore Easter.  The  lilies  in  William's  garden  were 
as  high  as  his  head.    Their  bloom  showed  faint- 
ly.    They  stood  there  in  stately  rows  like  tall 
197 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

candles  newly-lighted.  The  orange  trees  near 
the  bungalow  bore  their  golden  fruit.  Many  of 
the  branches  were  white  with  the  waxen  flowers. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  their  fragrance.  A 
wealth  of  roses  everywhere — and  everywhere 
the  songs  of  birds. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  and  June  were  reading  in  the 
courtyard.  They  heard  voices — it  was  the  Ma- 
jor and  Mrs.  Knowles.  June  put  down  her  book 
to  go  to  meet  them. 

Her  mother  put  out  her  hand  to  stop  her. 
"Daughter !"  Mrs.  Winthrop's  voice  trembled. 
"I  shall" — she  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair — 
"announce  your  engagement,  to  the  Major  and 
Maria." 

"Mother,  mother,  you  blessed  mother!"  June 
flung  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck. 

"I  have  decided  that  it  is  best,"  Mrs.  Win- 
throp's voice  was  broken — "but  you  will  never 
know  what  it  costs  me  until — you  have  a  daugh- 
ter of  your  own.  If  anything  should  happen  to 
me"— 

"Nothing  in  this  world  can  happen  to  you, 
198 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

mother  dear!  I  will  never  let  anything  harm 
you  I"  They  heard  the  rustle  of  Mrs.  Knowles' 
skirts.  "Don't  tell  them  just  yet!"  June  whis- 
pered. "I'm  going  to  call  up  George,  do  let  him 
know  it  first!" 

The  Major  was  all  out  of  breath.  After  the 
greetings  were  over,  Mrs.  Knowles  said,  "I  don't 
believe  this  climate  agrees  with  the  Major  any 
longer." 

The  Major  smiled  rather  sardonically. 

"When  one  gets  to  our  time  of  life,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  went  on,  "nothing  but  a  change  now 
and  then  keeps  one  alive." 

"Keeps  you  alive,  you  mean  Maria !" 

Mrs.  Winthrop  rung  for  afternoon  tea.  When 
it  was  brought,  Mrs.  Knowles  rambled  on  about 
the  relative  advantages  of  renting  a  house  or 
living  at  a  hotel.  "No,"  she  said  emphatically, 
"I  can  see  no  advantage  or  economy  in  having 
your  own  home." 

"To  us  though,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop, 
a  home — a  real  home  means  so  much — that — 
we  are  going  to  start  a  new  one !"  Then  she 
199 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

told  them  of  June's  engagement. 

June  herself  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Your  mother  has  just  told  us!"  said  Mrs. 
Knowles,  as  she  set  down  her  tea  cup.  She  put 
her  arm  round  June  and  kissed  her  effusively. 

The  Major  gallantly  kissed  June's  hand. 
"Oliver  is  as  fine  a  fellow  as  I  ever  knew!" 

"Indeed  he  is!"  Mrs.  Knowles  chimed  in. 
"You're  in  luck  to  get  him !" 

"You  mean,  Maria,  Oliver's  lucky  to  get 
June."  The  Major  spoke  emphatically.  "I 
shall  always  like  Oliver  for  what  he's  done  for 
Dodge." 

"And  what  is  that,"  asked  Mrs.  Winthrop. 

"You  don't  know?" 

"No." 

"Why,  Dodge  told  me  himself  yesterday,  that 
Oliver  gave  him  the  money  to  come  out  here 
with — that  he  has  paid  all  his  hospital  expenses 
• — and  has  gotten  him  a  position  as  overseer  on 
a  big  ranch." 

"It's  just  like  him,"  June  was  excited — "You'll 
both  come  to  the  wedding?" 
200 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

"Yes,  dear  if  it's  soon."  Mrs.  Knowles 
sighed.  "If  it  keeps  on  so  warm,  we  shall  have 
to  be  moving  on." 

June  glanced  quickly  at  her  mother. 

"Just  after  Easter,  we  think,"  Mrs.  Winthrbp 
spoke  as  if  the  details  had  been  settled  months 
ago. 

The  Major  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  He 
looked  thoughtfully  at  June's  mother.  Then  he 
said.  "How  well  I  remember  your  wedding- 
day,  my  dear  Mrs.  Winthrop  I" 

"Yes,  of  course  you  do,  you  were  best  man." 

"And  how  frantic  the  General  was,  when  be- 
tween us,  we  lost  the  ring  at  the  last  moment — 
what  a  time  we  had  finding  it!"  The  Major 
laughed  uproariously  and  slapped  his  lame  knee 
— "I  always  had  a  suspicion,  Mrs.  Winthrop, 
that  it  was  a  pretty  hard  struggle  for  your  moth- 
er to  give  you  up." 

A  curious  little  smile  trembled  on  June's  lips. 

The  Major  saw  it.  "Come  here,  you  little 
rogue !  I  remember  very  well  the  day  you  were 
born.  I  met  the  General  crossing  the  Common. 
201 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

He  walked  right  past  me — pretending  not  to  see 
me !  Then  he  turned  back.  Tm  not  speaking 
to  ordinary  mortals  to-day!  We  have  a  young 
lady  up  at  our  house.  As  she  brought  in  the 
month,  we  are  going  to  call  her  June.'  Dear  old 
fellow!  wasn't  he  stepping  high  that  day, 
though!" 

An  impatient  little  tap  of  Mrs.  Knowles' 
foot  brought  the  Major  back  from  the  happy 
past.  He  rose.  He  seized  June's  hands — 
"And  now — that  little  baby  girl  has  grown  up — 
and  she's  asking  us  to  her  wedding  1  Why,  I 
wouldn't  miss  it  for  worlds. 


202 


J.  W 

.-'V...          „    >-ii!^lit\-i,Pti  •—  P-      VY  U 


XXIV 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon.     William's 
lilies  were  banked  in  front  of  the  altar 
at  the  Church  of  the  Angels.       Long 
sprays  of  white  roses  from  the  patio  had 
been  twined  about  the  chancel-rail.     The  wed- 
ding was  to  take  place  the  next  morning. 

At  the  bungalow  all  was  being  made  ready 
for  the  wedding  breakfast.     William  was  cut- 
ting the  pink  roses — June's  favorites.    June  was 
following  him  about  with  a  basket  on  her  arm. 
203 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

"I  reck'n  William's  done  'bout  all  he  kin  for 
you,  Miss  June."  William  said  sadly,  "hit's 
'bout  th'  last  time  he'll  be  goin'  roun'  heah  wid 
th'  blue  hen's  chic'n." 

"That  reminds  me,  William,  I  haven't  told 
you  that  Mr.  George  has  given  his  play  that 
name." 

"His  play!  Whales!  I  hopes  he  ain't  one 
o'  them  playacters,  Miss  June  1" 

"Why,  don't  you  remember  I  told  you  he 
was  a  writer?" 

"William  recomembers  you  wore  sayin'  ez 
how  you'  mother  weren't  sals' fied  'bout  his  writ- 
in'  somehow.  I  didn't  know  ez  you  had  that  in 
you'  mind.  My  daddy!  whar  did  he  git  that 
name?" 

"I  gave  it  to  him.  I  told  him  that's  what  you 
call  me." 

William  was  pleased.  "Ez  long  ez  he's  got 
th'  blue  hen's  chick'n,  I  s'pose  he  might  ez  well 
git  th'  name  wid  'er." 

June  laughed.  "William,  we  feel  dreadfully 
to  leave  you  behind,  and  I've  been  thinking  that 
204 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

perhaps  when  we  get  East,  Mr.  George's  father 
might  like  to  have  you  on  his  estate.  Would 
you  come,  if  I  sent  for  you?" 

William  shook  his  head.  "No,  Miss  June, 
thanks  you  jus'  th'  same.  I's  bin  heah  so  long 
I's  a  natif!  an'  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  goin'  to  a 
new  country  an'  bein'  a  toorist  agin — but  Will' 
iam'll  keep  a-hopin'  ez  you'll  come  back  heah." 

"I  certainly  shall  want  to.  I  can't  bear  to 
leave  you  and  my  garden." 

"Th'  gardin  and  me  '11  be  mighty  des'lut  aftah 
t'morrow' — th'  house  all  shet  up — an'  th'  lilies 
gone — an'  no  pleasunt  voices  round  I"  William 
brushed  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  as  they  passed 
under  an  orange  tree.  "Th'  spidus  webs  is  jus' 
turribul  this  Spring!"  he  said. 

Jack  was  coming.  He  would  arrive  in  time 
for  dinner.  June  was  giving  a  few  final  touches 
to  the  big  room.  Mrs.  Winthrop  was  resting  in 
an  easy  chair.  There  was  a  quick  tap  at  the 
door.  Oliver  came  in.  He  walked  straight 
across  the  room  to  Mrs.  Winthrop,  and  thrust  a 
205 


A  WINTER  ROMANCE 

telegram  into  her  hand.  He  bent  down  over  her. 
"It's  accepted!  Have  I  fairly  won  my  prize, 
mother?' 

"My  dear  boy  I"  she  said  and  kissed  him. 

June  stepped  into  the  patio  to  take  an  armful 
of  smilax  from  William. 

"I  reck'n  its  gittin  'bout  my  suppah  time," 
said  William.  He  pulled  out  an  old  silver  watch 
by  a  worn  leather  cord.  "This  ole  timepiece's 
'bout  all  William's  got  left  to  be  comp'any,"  he 
said  sorrowfully.  "T'day  I's  jus'  bin  done  out 
wid  it  I  Hits  bin  a  tickin'  in  my  pocket  so  fast, 
jus'  wearin'  th'  life  out  o'  me — cause  I  know'd 
you'  time  heah  wore  a-growin'  shorter'n  shorter 
—  An'  now,  Mistah  George,  he's  a-takin'  th' 
little  blue  hen's  chick'n  way  wid  'im !  But  he's 
a  gentleman!  an'  he's  got  so  much  spirit  he 
makes  plesyoor  spring  up  wharevah  he  go! — 
an'  Miss  June  you's  plant'd  seeds  o'  kin'ness 
ev'rywhars,  an'  I  hopes  when  you  gits  up  thar," 
he  pointed  upward,  "I  hopes  you'll  have  jus'  one 
o'  th'  finest  gardins  they's  got  thar!"  William 
looked  off  at  the  crimson  and  gold  glowing  in 
206 


IN  POPPY  LAND 

the  West —  "That  sun  'pears  to  be  slow  goin* 
down  t'night.  I  reck'n  its  like  me,  hit  wanted 
to  stay  wid  you  ez  long  ez  possible.  Good' 
night,  Miss  June.  I'll  see  you-all  in  th'  mawn- 


207 


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